You're Lovely to Me
by bertie456
Summary: Collection of oneshots: latest rated T. Morality comes in shades of gray.
1. You're Lovely to Me

_**NB: The summary on the main page applies to the latest oneshot only.**_

_A/N: This is me procrastinating. I have a ton of work, plus another unfinished fic, yet here I am, writing something new. This is only a one-shot, but could theoretically turn into a series of one-shots if I feel the urge to procrastinate again. It's short and fluffy - hope you enjoy._

_Rated T for sexual references (I'm working my way up to attempting an M so any feedback would be welcome.)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. I also don't own the song "You're Lovely to Me" by Lucky Jim, the lyrics of which this and any future chapters will be based on. (There's a link on my profile if you want to listen to it.)

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**You're lovely to me, yes you are...**

"You're irritating." _No, don't write that._

"You're beautiful." _That neither._

"You're smart." _Insightful, Sherlock. Real insightful._

"You're... you."

Seeley Booth's mind refused to dignify that suggestion with a response and the agent threw his pen down on the table in annoyance at his apparent writer's block.

He wasn't a natural writer at the best of times. Some might say that this was because he thrived on conversation and physical interaction, preferring to communicate via face to face discussion, where body language and tone of voice could be taken into account as well as the words that were said. Others might, more accurately, say that he was a crappy writer and had been since he first learned to form the alphabet with his jumbo crayon in first grade.

Not that he was by any means illiterate. He could easily fill in the paperwork associated with his cases (although whether he wanted to was a different matter) and he had no problems with helping his son learn to spell "Barney the Dinosaur", but when it came to putting his feelings down on paper, the words failed to materialise. Especially when those feelings concerned a certain forensic anthropologist.

Booth leaned back in his chair, wondering why he'd ever agreed to take part in this ridiculous exercise.

_Because you can't stand seeing Bones miserable, _his mind answered cheerily, with the deadly accuracy that only inner thoughts can possess.

He sighed, knowing that the statement was true, but cursing Angela Montenegro for guilting him into in nonetheless.

There had been lots of arguments at the Jeffersonian recently, and it seemed like every member of the team had been in conflict with everyone else at some point. Hodgins and Zach had been squabbling about who fed whose lunch to the flesh eating beetles. Zach and Cam had disagreed over the young man's new flashy tie collection. Booth himself had also joined in this disagreement when the two men had shown up to work wearing matching ties. Cam and Brennan had been engaged in their usual power struggle, but Angela had somehow been caught in the middle of the debate this time and had ended up shouting at both the anthropologist and the pathologist before storming off to shout at her boyfriend for his constant beetle talk.

All in all, it was a tense time between the squints. However, after a large bar of Hershey's finest and an even larger shot of Jack Daniels, Angela'd had an epiphany. It was this ephipany which had led her to Booth's office, brandishing five sheets of paper and a ruthless smile.

She had explained that everyone on the team had to write something nice about each of the others. The anonymous comments would then be collected and given to each person, with the aim of showing everyone how much they were valued and appreciated by their colleagues. Booth saw the reasoning behind her idea, but had protested that he wasn't technically a squint, and so his opinion wasn't really needed.

Angela had clearly thought otherwise and had all but tied him to his chair, ordering him to write something nice by the end of the morning. Never one to be pushed around, Booth had continued to argue, until the artist had played her trump card, telling him that everyone, including Brennan, was really unhappy and tense at the moment, and that he should do something to help with that problem.

Her ploy had worked. At the slightest mention of his partner in any kind of unhappiness, the overly chivalrous knight that resided somewhere in Booth's subconscious had instantly mounted his steed, ready to help the damsel in distress at any cost, and the agent had reluctantly agreed to write the notes.

Booth glanced over at the small pile of written papers with satisfaction. Despite his initial reservations, he'd managed to write something positive about each of the squints. Admittedly, his comments were mostly "x is good at their job" and "y has been a great help in many cases," but still, they were honest and would hopefully accomplish Angela's goals.

Writing about Temperance Brennan was more difficult, much like the woman herself. Booth stared at the heading again, waiting for inspiration to strike.

"What I think about Dr Temperance Brennan," he read aloud and was slightly disappointed when nothing helpful came to mind. He leaned back again, putting his feet on the desk with a sigh of defeat. He'd been a Ranger, he tackled dangerous criminals every day and now he was getting his ass kicked by a blank sheet of paper.

_Okay, let's try again, _the disciplined part of his mind instructed. _Think of everything you'd like to write about Bones and just edit out the parts that would make her want to slap you. Go for it. Think of anything._

Booth closed his eyes, letting an image of his partner fill his head and almost smiling at the mere thought of her. _She's beautiful, _he thought again. _Even when she's in that shiny blue spacesuit, knee deep in dead bodies, she's still gorgeous. Those eyes... God, I could stare at those eyes all day and still not see everything in them. _His eyes travelled down the mental picture of Brennan. _And her lips. Those perfectly full lips that I know would feel so good against mine..._

Smiling again, he moved back up to her hair. _She looks great when her hair's up, but I prefer it down, loose waves falling over her face and shoulders. She looks less controlled that way, less rigid._ He smirked to himself._ Less uptight. But either way, I like the way her hair contrasts with her pale skin. In fact, I like her skin in general. Smooth and delicate and as pale as porcelain. I see our hands out on the desk sometimes and I'm amazed at how dark mine seem next to hers. I can imagine my hands all over her body, my tan standing out against her pallor as I run my fingers along her arms, feeling her pulse race on the insides of her wrists._

He stretched back further, a smile now fixed firmly on his lips. _And it's not just her arms. I want to feel all of her under my hands, my lips, my tongue... I want to trace every inch of her neck, her back, her legs, her breasts... _He sighed, feeling himself drifting into a familiar day-dream as he continued on his imaginary course. _Running my lips down her stomach and feeling her thrust towards me, my hands cupping her perfect ass while she moans for me to-_

_Stop it._

He was snapped out of his thoughts as the good Catholic part of his brain drew his attention back to the note he was supposed to be writing. _Save the fantasies for later, _it instructed him. _Focus on non R-rated ways to describe what you think of your entirely professional partner._

Sighing, Booth sat upright again, running his hands through his hair tiredly. Mildly angry with himself for having agreed to do this, he tried again to think out loud. "She's annoying. Every argument, she has to have the last word. Plus, she has no social skills. I can't count the number of times that she's offended a suspect or family member, or been incredibly tactless with me about my son, or my past. And she doesn't seem to understand that she's a squint, not a cop. She always wants to go charging off with a gun, even though that's my job..."

_Nice things, _his mind prompted. _The idea is to write nice things._

Irritated, Booth screwed up the piece of paper and lobbed it hard towards his trash can. His annoyance was only exacerbated when it completely missed its target, bouncing off the wall and tumbling under his coffee table. His head dropped down and he took several deep breaths to calm himself.

_I'm never going to be able to do this,_ he thought despondently. _My Bones-related thoughts always end with me wanting to strangle her or... _He cut himself off, not wanting to recall the other hand-oriented activity that his thoughts so often resulted in. _What in the name of God am I supposed to write?_

Unresolved, he got to his feet and wandered over to the coffee table to retrieve the paper before dropping it into its intended goal. Meandering back to his seat, Booth could think of thousands of ways he could describe his partner and his feelings towards her, but couldn't find a single one of them that he wanted to disclose to her. He dropped back down in his seat, depressed, but leapt to his feet again when he saw Angela Montenegro standing in the doorway, an amused grin on her face.

"Writer's block?" she inquired sympathetically and Booth nodded.

"You could say that."

Sashaying across the room to his desk as he sat again, she suggested innocently, "Roses are red, violets are blue?"

He rolled his eyes, his voice rife with sarcasm as he replied, "Funny."

Angela just grinned before speaking more seriously, "I'm not asking for you to write War and Peace, Booth. Just tell her something that you like about her, or what you think of your partnership, or what she does well. She's your partner, you should at least have something to say."

His mouth suddenly curved up in a knowing smile and he scrawled something quickly on the corner of a sheet of paper, before ripping it off and handing it to Angela along with the rest of his notes. "Done."

The artist immediately started looking for the note in the small pile, but Booth protested, "Hey, hey, anonymous, remember? No reading."

Foiled, Angela stopped rummaging and looked back over at the agent, speaking reluctantly, "Fine. I'll go sort these out, looking at the names only, and you should get your squint-issued pick me up later today." She raised her eyebrows. "You curious to know what we all think of you?"

"The anticipation's killing me," Booth deadpanned but Angela's smile only widened.

"You love us really." She headed out of the office, clutching the notes and calling back, "Thanks, Booth."

"You're welcome," he yelled back, not entirely truthfully, before returning to his much more routine paperwork and wondering how far Angela would get before stopping to read the note.

To her credit, the artist at least made it to her car before flipping eagerly through the pile to find Booth's hastily written note. She pulled it out quickly, hoping it would contain some declaration of undying love or at least a request for a first date.

"We make a good team." Her brow furrowed as she read, getting a strange sense of déjà vu. Perplexed, she pulled out the rest of the notes that had come from the squints and scanned each one quickly, hoping to jog her memory.

Reaching the bottom of the pile, Angela laughed quietly to herself as she read Brennan's note to Booth aloud, guessing that her best friend had struggled to find the words just as much as the agent, "We have a very effective partnership."

Satisfied, she put the car in drive and headed back to the Jeffersonian, deciding that while her little exercise had managed to relieve some of the stress in the work place, it clearly hadn't managed to erase _all_ the types of tension between the coworkers.

_Good? Bad? Godawful? If I wrote more stories based (very loosely) on the lyrics to that song, would you read them or run screaming for the hills? Please share your opinions :)_


	2. We've Traveled So Far

_A/N: Okay, this is now definitely going to be a series of one shots, meaning that each chapter will essentially be a different story and will probably be fluff, romance, friendship, humor or maybe smut (underagers/non-smut fans - these will be clearly signposted for your avoidance.) Each one shot will be based on a line from the song "You're Lovely to Me" by Lucky Jim, and the story summary will change each chapter so you can get an idea what the new one-shot's about. Hope that all made sense..._

_(Takes breath) Not all author notes will be this long. Honest._

_Disclaimer: Bones and the aforementioned song aren't mine. Remember this, since I'm too lazy to write it every chapter :)_

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**We've traveled together, we've traveled so far...**

Temperance Brennan never believed the story of Noah and his ark.

Her first problem with it was the lack of a reputable source. As a scientist, she liked everything to be backed up by empirical facts and hard evidence, but the Bible provided neither of these, instead just asking her to believe that a senior citizen built a boat, stocked it full of animals and went for a cruise over the submerged earth.

And it wasn't just the source material. To her mind, the story itself was full of holes, such as how Noah could fit two of every animal on a boat, and how he could guard against the natural instinct of animals higher up the food chains to eat their lower counterparts when feeling peckish. But until today, the main problem she had with the story was the volume of water that was said to have come down from the skies.

However, the amount of rain currently falling around her was causing Brennan to reassess her entire position on the subject. It fell from the sky in sheets, bouncing high off the uneven road surface in front of her. She could hear the heavy drops hammering against the roof of the SUV and could see the cold winter wind blowing the water sideways, sending the rain on a diagonal path to earth. Staring out of the windows, she wished fervently that the vehicle was still moving.

Sighing, she curled up in the back seat, tucking her legs underneath her and wrapping Booth's sweater round her shoulders to keep warm. She had briefly considered commandeering the entire bag of clothes he had in the trunk, figuring that hers were either too dirty or too thin, but had decided to leave them for him to change into when he inevitably failed to fix the engine and got back into the relative warmth of the car.

_It's not like he deserves to have dry clothes to come back to, _she thought with a hint of bitterness. _It's his fault that we're stuck here. _Trying to quash her annoyance towards her partner, she stared out of the window at the Pennsylvania woods, thinking that at least it hadn't rained while they were working the case.

The case itself had been fairly straightforward. A badly mauled body had been found up in Blue Ridge Mountains by a group of walkers a few days earlier. Brennan had been asked to ID the victim, and Booth had accompanied her mainly for the free vacation, but between the two of them, they'd managed to work out that the dead man's wife had filled his backpack with honey before he went on a walk, resulting in him being attacked and killed by hungry bears. After the tackily-named "Honey Trap Killer" had been apprehended, Booth and Brennan had headed back to DC, only for the heavens to open as they drove.

Temperance was shaken out of her thoughts as the vehicle literally shook when the hood was slammed shut, and she bit back a laugh as she watched her partner jog round to the door to the back seat. She could only see the top half of him, but he appeared to be soaked through. His soggy collar poked out of the top of his waterproof jacket and his usually coiffed hair had been flattened by the rain, causing it to stick messily to his head. Despite the amount of water pouring from the sky, Booth still looked dirty from the engine, his cheeks and forehead stained with oil and grime from where he'd accidentally rubbed his hands against them.

As he pulled open the door and climbed hurriedly into the back seat, she saw that his bottom half was just as bad as his top. At first glance, his jeans looked to be dry, but it was only when she caught sight of a lighter patch between his thighs that she realised that they had been almost completely drenched, darkening the color of the denim. His boots dripped as he collapsed against the seat with a groan, oil stains now visible on his hands and clothes.

Staying tucked under her warm sweater, she asked mockingly, "So, did you fix it?"

Too tired to acknowledge her jibe, Booth shook his head in defeat. "Water got into the air intake. There's nothing I can do to fix it here." He looked over at her, registering her raised eyebrows. "I know, I know, you don't need to say it."

"Say what?" she inquired innocently.

Booth eyed her warily, unsure whether she was still mocking him or whether her question was down to genuine confusion. Having faith in his partner, he decided on the latter and replied, "That you told me so."

He knew he'd made the wrong choice when the corners of her mouth tugged upwards in a smug smile and she answered in the know-it-all voice that drove him crazy, "I _did_ tell you so."

Sighing, Booth ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it back into place as he answered irritably, "I know you told me, Bones, but it was either that or driving a fifty mile detour. How was I supposed to know that a little water would do so much damage?"

"A little?" she repeated incredulously. "Booth, you drove through a flood."

"Slowly," he countered emphatically, "I drove _slowly _through a flood."

She rolled her eyes, still annoyed at him. "Adding an adverb does not change the fact that you drove through a flood and broke your car."

"Whoa, I did not break my car, okay?" he shot back. "It's just a little temperamental right now, but I'm sure the AAA can fix it when they get here."

"It won't start," Brennan stated, not sharing his hopeful enthusiasm. "And I doubt that whatever you did to it just now will have done any good."

"Look, can we just stop with the judging? I'm soaked to the skin and covered in oil; the last thing I need right now is a lecture." He leaned forward, feeling his damp clothes stick to his body as he added petulantly, "Besides, the only reason I went through the water is because you kept nagging me about wanting to get back to the lab."

Brennan raised her eyebrows, unable to believe what she was hearing. "You're blaming me?! I told you to take the detour!"

"Yeah, but you would've whined the whole way," he said as he started to pull his soaked jacket off his arms.

Infuriated, she turned to him, his sweater slipping off her shoulders as she berated him, "You are insufferable! Just because your male pride wouldn't let you drive around the flood-" She was cut off as Booth yanked the jacket hard off his arms, inadvertantly spraying her with water. "Booth!"

The agent stifled a laugh as he saw drops of water from his jacket trickling down her face and edged back, apologetically, "Sorry, Bones, but I need to get some dry clothes on."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not going out in that rain while you get changed. Just climb over the seats and take your clothes off before you make me any wetter."

Giving her a salute and a wink, Booth said mockingly, "Yes, ma'am," before standing on the back seats and clumsily climbing over into the uncovered trunk, his boots squeaking loudly on the slippery leather. Finding his case, he rummaged through for some suitable clothes, instructing his partner, "You face forward, alright? I don't want you ogling me while I'm changing."

"Ogling?" Brennan moved to turn round before taking a deep breath and deciding not to give in to his teasing. "I'm not going to "ogle" you, Booth. Now get changed before the AAA show up."

Seeing that she had turned her head directly forward, Booth smirked and began to pull off his casual shirt which had somehow managed to get drenched despite behind under his evidently ineffective waterproof. His elbows collided hard with the sides of the trunk as he struggled to tug his arms out of the clinging sleeves and he heard Brennan snigger quietly in the back seat.

"You know, you could always make conversation instead of laughing at me," he suggested, frustrated by the cramped space. Getting no response, he tried again, "Fine, I'll start. Where did you last go on vacation?"

"What? Why would you want to have a conversation about that? I can't see how it would be of interest to either of us."

Booth's melodramatic sigh was clearly audible from behind her as he said patiently, "It's called small talk, Bones - very common among people. You should try it sometime." There was a grunt as he tried to unfasten the button on his jeans with his oily hands and he prompted again, "Now for instance."

Amused by the noises from behind her, Brennan kept her eyes fixed forward as she thought. "Well, I went to Peru in the fall to look at what was allegedly an Incan skeleton. And last summer I spent two weeks out in Indonesia helping to identify some bodies they'd found buried on one of the islands."

Now lying on his back between their suitcases and trying to tug his sodden jeans up and off his legs, Booth interrupted her answer, "Those aren't vacations. Anything involving skeletons, mass graves and the absence of alcohol is not a vacation." Successfully pulling his pants off, Booth once again knelt up as he asked hopefully, "Come on, you must've been somewhere fun. Did you ever go back to Aurora to go skiing with that guy Chuck?"

"Charlie," she corrected, fully aware that Booth knew his name. "And yes, I did."

She offered no further description of the trip and the masochistic part of Booth's mind pressed on before he could stop it, "So, did you and he... have a good time?"

Smiling a little at his question, Brennan turned her head slightly as she began to answer, "Well, actually-"

"Hey, hey, eyes forward!" he cut in suddenly, realising he was still kneeling in the trunk wearing only socks and a pair of surprisingly wet boxers. Deciding he needed to change his underwear as well, he ordered firmly, "And keep them forward."

Complying with an even wider grin, she continued as Booth fumbled behind her, "He took me skiing up there with him and some of his friends." Imagining Brennan alone with a group of the delivery man's young, attractive friends caused Booth to accidentally tug his sock off a bit too viciously, splattering muddy water over the sides of the trunk. "I had a really good time, until..."

She trailed off and despite the fact that his boxers were now round his knees, Booth asked with interest, "Until what?"

Brennan stared straight forwards, a twinkle in her eye. "I came back from an afternoon ski on my own and I thought no-one was home. But when I went up to my room, I found Charlie and his friend Brett in there." She resisted the urge to turn round, wanting to see Booth's expression as she finished, "They were wearing my underwear."

There was a loud thud from behind her followed by a groan of pain. Booth had been crouching, trying to step out of his boxers as she was telling the story and had promptly overbalanced and smacked his head on the door as he fell. His groan was quickly replaced by a snort of laughter as he asked, "What did you do?"

"I left," she stated simply before adding with a contemplative air, "I let them keep my bras and panties though; I didn't really want to wear them again after that."

Booth laughed, enjoying the thought of the cocky young man caught in a humiliating situation. It quickly dawned on him, however, that he was still sitting, naked and damp, in the trunk of his SUV and he hurriedly wriggled on a dry pair of boxers as Brennan pondered aloud, "You know, I think I had a better time when we went."

"Except for the creepy cannibalistic doctor you nearly brained with a bedpan?"

She frowned. "I thought that was one of the highlights."

Banging his head on the roof as he pulled his clean jeans on, Booth said with mock-hurt, "You were supposed to say that hanging out with me was one of the highlights."

Considering this possibility, she shrugged, "Maybe that was too."

Booth read her implication and finished, "But you still prefered the cannibal." She said nothing and he sighed. "You know, you can be normal sometimes, Bones. You managed it in Vegas."

"Booth, high heels and a tight dress don't make a woman normal."

His head emerged from the neck of his fresh t-shirt as he replied, "I didn't mean that. I just meant that for a few days you focused your attention on things other than skeletons. It was nice to see you relax for a while..."

Still looking towards the front of the car, Temperance shook her head. "That wasn't relaxed, that was acting. We were undercover, remember? I was being Roxie. When _I_ relax, I read books, do jigsaw puzzles, catch up on my writing..."

Almost fully dressed, Booth slid his socks and shoes back on as he asked, slightly disappointed, "So you didn't even have the tiniest bit of fun in Vegas?"

For the first time, she glanced over her shoulder at him with a knowing smile, "I don't know; hanging out with you was one of the highlights."

He chuckled. "You're a fast learner."

"I know," she said matter-of-factly.

Shoes fastened, Booth clambered back over the seat, landing next to his partner as he said, smiling, "Well, I definitely had more fun going with you than when I went before." Seeing her surprised look, he elaborated, "Last few times, I left broke after a few nights spent in a crappy motel with some of my army buddies. This time, I left after a stay in a fancy hotel, with the case solved and with you on my arm." He leaned back, running his hand through his hair, "With Vegas, it's all about how you leave. Millions of people come in with high hopes but very few leave satisfied."

Looking over at him, Brennan asked quietly, "And you were satisfied?"

His smile widened, "Almost completely."

She opened her mouth, wanting to ask why he wasn't _absolutely_ satisfied, but before she could get the question out, there was a sharp knock on the window. Startled, they turned to see the cheerful face of a plump man who wore a bright orange coat and shouted through the window, "You Mr Steven Booth?"

Rolling his eyes at his partner, Booth pulled on his still wet jacket, not particularly enthusiastic about going back out into the rain in his warm, dry clothes.

Temperance watched as he opened the door and smiled as she heard him answer the man, not bothering to tell him his actual name, "Yep, that's me." The car door was slammed shut as Booth and the AAA man walked round to the engine and she curled back up in the corner of the seat, still wondering about the answer to the last question. Wrapping the sweater tightly around her again, she smiled to herself, deciding that the view she'd had in the rearview mirror for most of the conversation was more than satisfactory.

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_Reviews very much appreciated. Thanks for reading._

_**Note: The next chapter will probably be rated M, so look for any further updates under the M section of the main page. (Most future chapters will still be rated T or under though.)**_


	3. There's Love in Your Eyes

_A/N: Whoa! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed that last chapter - I don't think I've ever had so many reviews in such a short space of time! And all those who thought the summary was misleading, get your mind out of the gutter... :)_

_Actually, don't, because..._

_**This chapter is rated M.** It's a very tame M, as it's my first shot at anything of the smut variety, but **if you're too young/not a smut fan then you should probably skip this one.** The next will be up soon and will be pure fluff, but in general, most chapters of this fic will be rated T or below, so please do keep checking for updates as smut chapters will be few and far between._

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**Your tongue it is wise, and there's love in your eyes, deep and blue...**

Seeley Booth had been raised a good Catholic.

He went to church on Sundays, unless he was especially hungover; he said his prayers every night, unless he was especially drunk; and he tried to live how the good book suggested, unless the suggestion was just impractical. Okay, so he'd shot a lot of people and had a child out of wedlock, but he figured that no-one's perfect. Besides, you can't be a Catholic without a healthy dose of Catholic guilt, and Booth was way ahead on that count.

But he'd done his bit. He'd gone to church camp as a kid, he'd spent time in the army chapel when he was on active duty, and he helped out with making Christingles at his local church when Christmas rolled around each year. He'd had his values drummed into him since birth; respect women, be a good father, be restrained, love thy God, obey the laws, and all the rest, and he'd managed to successfully hold onto them all throughout his adult life.

Well, almost all of them.

Since he'd met Temperance Brennan, his restraint has been slowly weakening, turning from the strength of iron to the consistency of marshmallow in just over two short years. When he'd kissed her for the first time, it was as though his marshmallow of restraint had been roasted on an open fire. And when she, for want of a better expression, had first screwed his brains out, his squidgy excuse for restraint had melted away completely, leaving him free to satisfy his and her every need, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

The only flaw in this plan was that she only wanted him for approximately twelve hours a day, and even that was dependant on overtime.

Two months ago, he'd listened with horror as she'd told him that she wanted to keep their relationship low-key at work, in order to preserve their effective teamwork, the reputation of their department and their all-round safety from vengeful serial killers. Despite wanting to protest violently that the logic of this plan required him to utilise his now defunct restraint, Booth had merely smiled and nodded before subtly enquiring what low-key entailed exactly.

"Low-key" apparently ruled out kissing, groping, under the desk oral sex of any kind and making out on the large glowing table, thereby putting pay to most of Booth's work related fantasies in one fell swoop. However, he'd agreed to the plan, figuring that he could summon up some hidden reserve of willpower and manage to make it through each day with the knowledge that he would have her to himself all night.

So, ironically like the rest of the Jeffersonian Museum, the Medico-Legal lab had become a "Look, Don't Touch" zone for the past two months.

Brennan had coped with it well, separating herself into a work person and a play person with remarkable efficiency, keeping any feelings she had for her partner firmly shut away during the day. Booth, on the other hand, was not coping so well, and his day was split into two distinct categories: being with Bones and fantasising about Bones. Granted, this was an improvement on a day spent wholly on the fantasising, but it wasn't enough. He needed the little things; a kiss on the cheek, a phone call telling him about her day, the chance to put his arm around her in public. He wasn't asking her to strip off and let him take her from behind in front of the whole lab, he just wanted some signs of affection, rather than the entirely impersonal current arrangement.

It's not like their relationship was a secret. They had both been clear about that. Brennan had told Angela as soon as it was decided, and for a few days, the squints had been buzzing with excitement. That had quickly died down in the absence of any couple-like behavior from the partners, and it had soon been back to business as normal for the whole team.

Except Booth.

Checking his watch, he leaned back on the couch in the lounge area of the lab, flipping his poker chip in the air impatiently, wondering how long it could take squints to get him a few lab results. All he needed was some hard evidence, and then he could head back to the Hoover building to work on his end of the case, far, far away from the torturous presence of Temperance Brennan.

Normally, he'd be down there, talking or arguing with her while she worked, but even that was now too much for him, and he'd retreated to the upper platform, trying to block out the temptation.

But dear God, it was hard. And not just in the metaphorical way. Try as he might, Booth's libido could not get the hang of the night-of-passionate-sex-followed-by-whole-day-of-Bones-cold-turkey system that it had been subjected too. Sighing, he took a sip of his coffee, doing his best to focus on anything except his partner.

It didn't work. His eyes couldn't help but pick her out in the group of lab-coated squints below him, and the sensible part of his mind was reduced to the role of a back seat driver, pointing out the correct way to go while being thoroughly ignored by the other part which drank in the sight of her greedily. Staring at her perfectly neat and ordered appearance, Booth couldn't help but draw comparisons between the side of her he saw almost every night.

He watched as she turned to face Zach, her tidy ponytail swinging gently as she did so, and remembered her hair as it was when she was with him the night before. She'd taken it down as soon as she walked through his door, and within moments his hand was entangled in it as he held her lips to his, kissing her hungrily as though starved of the sheer taste of her. Her auburn curls had rested lazily on her shoulders all through dinner and she'd occasionally smoothed them with her own hand as she spoke to him. Not that she'd cared about how messy it was as the evening went on. As he thrust into her, she'd moved on the pillow in time with his motion, her hair mussed and spreading around her, loose and untamed. She'd thrown her head back as she came, gasping his name, and when he too had joined her in the freefall, they came down together, their lips meeting in a satisfied kiss while he played intimately with a stray curl and she ran her fingers along his upper arm, tracing the muscle with her nails.

Feeling his skin tingle at the mere memory of her touch, Booth closed his eyes, his Catholic guilt berating him for not being more respectful of his partner's wishes for professionalism. Deciding that memory alone would have to sustain him till that evening, he looked back down to the raised platform and saw that Brennan was now walking between the workstations. He rolled his eyes to himself when he saw that she was wearing her usual heavy brown boots which she insisted were so comfortable. In truth, he never used to mind them, but that was before he saw her in _those_ heels.

It'd been about a month into their relationship, and he'd decided to take Brennan out on a date that consisted of more than bottles of beer and whatever kind of takeaway they could find the number for. He'd booked the fanciest restaurant in DC, fully aware that he'd have to live off lentils for the next month to afford it, but the evening had been more than worth it.

Temperance had looked beautiful. She rarely had the time or energy to dress up properly, but when she did, she went all out. Her long black dress had been perfect, her hair coiffed and delicate, and her make-up dark and smoky, accentuating the blue of her eyes. However, what had surprised him the most was her shoes. The black stilettos managed to lengthen her already long legs, making her nearly the same height as Booth, and they altered her posture slightly, causing her pert ass to tilt out and fit snugly into Booth's hands as he held her close to kiss her. He'd complimented her on her outfit, but said that he wouldn't have thought she owned a pair of fuck-me heels. Booth smirked to himself on the couch, thinking of her bemused reply, "Why would heels want to be fucked?"

The meal was wonderful, and she had even humored his notions of chivalry by letting him pay. Arriving back at his apartment afterwards, they had quickly made their way to the bedroom, ready to let go of the formal, polite part of the evening. Hurriedly removing his tux, Booth had been only too glad to get Brennan out of her gown, but it was here she had surprised him again. Letting him take off her dress, she had then pushed him onto the bed with a wicked smile before climbing on top of him, still dressed in her panties, stockings and those heels. Her lips were on him before he could question what she was doing, and she trailed kisses up his bare chest, occasionally letting her tongue swirl across his tanned skin as she rocked her hips back and forth slowly, sending a rush of stimulation through both of them that was heightened by the friction of their underwear.

Becoming greedy for more than just friction, Booth had tried to manoeuvre himself on top of her. She'd pinned him down, but got the message nonetheless, since she then removed her panties before putting his cock out of at least some of its misery by discarding his boxers. Only when he was fully naked did she let him roll her onto her back, hooking her feet together with her legs around his body to enable her to control the speed at which he entered her.

Booth grinned to himself at the memory of the bruises her shoes left on his ass from where she'd tightened her grip around him, needing him deeper and deeper inside of her as her hands clutched at the headboard, nearly lifting completely up on his strokes. Recalling the ferocity with which they both came that night, he wondered briefly why he was so turned on by her ass in those heels. He wasn't normally one for roleplaying or dress-up games during sex, being more focused on the pleasure of the act than unnecessary trimmings, but that didn't stop him considering whether Brennan would be amenable to wearing stilettos more often...

Stopping himself before he drifted off into another daydream, Booth glanced back down at his partner with a mildly depressed sigh. Forget shoes, forget classy restaurants, all he really wanted was to be able to kiss her in public.

He was distracted as her voice drifted up to the lounge from her conversation with her colleagues, debating some scientific point so complex that Booth only understood about three words in her speech, one of which was Zach's name. Hoping to ease the annoyance that was building again, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths, grateful that the rest area was so deserted.

Eyes shut, he smiled as he heard her continue to speak, and tried to remember what it was like when this scientific jargon was all he heard from her. In the lab, she was so factual, analytical, with everything backed up by hard forensic evidence before she'd say anything conclusive. In arguments and conversations with him, she always used her extensive vocabulary, putting her point across in the most long-winded way she could think of, normally referencing some kind of biological prerogative or anthropological imperative that left him blank. She had rarely opened up to anyone, and even then she struggled to express her feelings simply, preferring to hide behind a shield of scientific reasoning instead of allowing room for the possibility of impulse.

And by what he could hear from below him, nothing had changed at work. He, however, had seen a whole new side to her over the last two months they'd spent together. Granted, the arguments and the conversations were fairly similar, with the same bickering and bantering between the two of them, but now they almost always ended in a kiss or more, instead of with one of them taking offence and giving the other the silent treatment.

It was in the events that so often followed the kiss that Booth saw the biggest change in Brennan's vocabulary. When his lips were on her, it was as though her brain somehow switched off, letting the words flow straight from her mouth, bypassing her internal filter. He cast his mind back to their last few encounters and glanced down at her as he remembered some of her more profane exclamations, "Holy mother of fuck..." being one of his personal favorites.

Like any man, he loved hearing his partners call his name during the act, but hearing Temperance do it turned him on more than he'd thought possible. It would start lustful, her voice husky as they kissed, whispering "Seeley" in anticipation as his mouth moved down her throat. When his kisses reached her breasts and became licks and sucks of her hardened nipples, her call became more pleading, repeating his name between heavy breaths and becoming louder as his hand started to work her center, circling her clit with his thumb while letting his fingers delve into her folds, slipping one or two inside her core as she began to thrust towards him. But the best by far was when she was mid-explosion. The volume varied but the emotion behind it was constantly sincere, and it was this glimpse, this hint that she cared for him as much as he openly cared for her that so often tipped him over the edge as well.

Returning once again to reality, Booth suddenly and decisively got to his feet, unable to take it anymore. Unwilling to sit and cling to memories when the woman in question was downstairs, he headed down to the platform armed with the new realisation that, as much as he loved every little detail and nuance of her voice, body and personality, none of it meant anything if he couldn't have her as a whole.

Striding up onto the central platform and ignoring questions from various squints, he moved to Temperance, spun her round to face him and pulled her into a kiss before she could object.

It wasn't the most passionate of kisses, as he simply captured her lips with his, holding her to him, but it was the significance of the act that mattered. He had kissed her in the middle of the lab, _her_ lab, in front of all their coworkers.

Slightly stunned at what he'd just done, Booth stepped back, seeing that her expression mirrored his own and wondering whether she was about to fall into his arms or kick his presumptious ass.

Temperance did neither. Still breathing hard in shock, she spoke levelly to him, as though the entire lab wasn't now watching their conversation, "We talked about this..."

His shoulders visibly sagged and he dropped his head slightly, feeling humiliated and rejected. "I'm sorry," he began sincerely, thinking his plan might not have been the best idea after all. "I just couldn't sit there anymore. I want you, Temperance, I-"

"You should've talked to me," she said, her voice softer but still chiding.

Booth shook his head helplessly, unsure of the words that would make it better. "I'm sorry..."

Ignoring his apology, she finished her earlier statement, a knowing smile tugging at her lips, "I might have said yes."

His eyes darted up, full of renewed hope, but before he could say anything, she stepped closer to him, planting a soft kiss just to the side of his lips. Meeting his eyes, she spoke in a whisper, her hands on the sides of his jacket, "No more dramatics in future, alright? Neither of us work like that." Seeing his relieved but confused expression, she smiled. "We're adults, Booth, we can talk about these things. Truth is, I was beginning to regret our decision just as much as you were."

The agent's confident smile returned and he asked optimistically, "So does this mean...?"

Still keeping her voice low, Temperance replied, "Let's just start small for now. We can discuss it tonight."

Booth grinned and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, speaking gratefully, "Thank you."

The wicked smile he'd grown to love spread across her face as she moved round, whispering in his ear before she moved back to her work, "This doesn't mean your desk-oriented fantasies are back on the table. Or under it."

Chuckling, but not fully deterred, he watched her go, feeling satisfied not just by her words, but by the familiar glint in her eye. Of all the parts of her he'd been obsessing over, he'd failed to notice that when she'd looked at him in the lab for the last two months, even under the guise of professionalism, she'd had the exact same sparkle in her eyes as when she kissed him, or cried his name aloud in their bed.

He wasn't sure if either of them could yet vocalise what the sparkle meant, but he knew it was his, and his alone, and that was more than enough for now.

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_Reviews and constructive criticism very much appreciated as always._


	4. Venus Ascending

_A/N: Huge, huge thanks to Bellabun for reading through the last chapter for me. She is awesome. (I meant to say this last time, but was sleepy and forgot.)_

_**And we're now firmly back to a T rating for this and most other chapters.** Thanks to those who reviewed and enjoyed the last one; there may still be the occasional M chapter in future._

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**Venus ascending is surely your star...**

If asked to describe Temperance Brennan, very few people would use the term "party girl," and the ones who did would clearly not know her very well.

She hated parties. As a child, she had been a little too over-competitive during musical chairs and had once inadvertently inflicted a nosebleed on a mermaid in a race for the last chair at an Under the Sea party. In high school, she had rarely been invited to parties, partly because she was moved around too often to make friends, and partly because she wasn't actually any good at making friends. In college, she'd attended a couple of fraternity parties in her freshman year, but had decided against going to any more after she'd inflicted another, entirely intentional, nosebleed on the star quarterback when he grabbed her ass and drunkenly shoved his tongue down her throat.

At the Jeffersonian, the parties had a far less sexual overtone - unless you were Jack Hodgins and Angela Montenegro and then _every_ occasion had a sexual overtone - but they were still a deeply uncomfortable and awkward experience for Brennan. Being one of the few bonafide scientists there, she had to listen in annoyance as the wealthy donors all said how unpleasant her job was, and how disgusting dead bodies were. Having learned to keep her mouth shut and not point out that they would all be corpses themselves one day, she often found herself switching onto autopilot as the same questions were asked again and again.

Tonight was no different.

The party she was attending was a joint celebration of the one hundred and sixtieth anniversary of the Jeffersonian's opening and the acquisition of a new space shuttle which had carried out important research on the moon, so the ever original party-planners had staged the event in the Air and Space museum. She and her team had been forced to attend, to the extent that Cam had practically herded them into the limo to get them there and apparently Booth had been subjected to similar pressure at the FBI, with his boss telling him that a Bureau representative was required at the event, and he was the one who had to fall on the grenade.

His presence had not gone entirely unnoticed. Many of the women at the party had spotted the only FBI agent in the building, seen him talking to Brennan, and had all leapt to the same conclusion, namely that the real-life version of Special Agent Andy Lister was every bit as attractive as the one described in her books. Temperance had thus spent a large part of the evening trying to correct their erroneous assumptions regarding herself and her partner, only to be pressed for every little detail about Booth when they'd discovered he was single.

After three hours of smiling through her teeth and nodding politely, Brennan had finally managed to make an escape, seeking a secluded spot to rest and wishing that she was curled up on her couch with a good book instead of being dressed in a gown that she kept standing on by accident, wearing deeply uncomfortable shoes and having pins all but driven into her scalp to hold her intricate hairstyle in place.

As she made her way through the museum in search of respite from the constant barrage of conversation, she reached a dead end when the long corridor she was walking down suddenly ended in an official looking red door, bearing the label, "Planetarium. Employees only." Looking around her, she saw that there were still a few couples sitting together on the benches near the windows, meaning that even the furthest part of the museum was populated.

Motivated by the desire for peace and quiet, she walked confidently up to the red door, deciding that, as an employee of the Jeffersonian, she had every right to hide away in the dark recesses of the planetarium for a while before returning to the party. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door, walked inside and saw the universe explode above her head.

When she'd recovered from the shock of the fact that the supposedly closed planetarium was currently playing a show, her eyes scanned the room suspiciously, looking for the intruder who'd sneaked into an off-limits area to catch up on their knowledge of the solar system.

"Hey, Bones."

To say she was surprised to see Booth would be a lie. Letting the door fall shut behind her, her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the auditorium and she saw her partner sitting in the center of the room, his feet resting on the back of the chair in front of him and his white dress shirt glowing slightly in the light from the ceiling.

Staying in her position by the door, she asked, in a half-hearted attempt to chide him, "What are you doing here?"

Booth's voice traveled across the room and she was struck by how tired he sounded as he answered, "I'm watching the show. I brought Parker here a few weeks ago, but he doesn't like the dark, so we skipped this place. I'm just seeing what I missed."

Still not entering fully, she glanced up at the domed ceiling, watching as the projector showed the creation of the Milky Way galaxy, complete with swirling colors and fiery stars. Realising that something was missing, she inquired, "Why is there no sound?"

"Because I couldn't find the button that said "Sound"," he replied honestly, and she caught the smile on his lips as the above universe flashed into life. "The play button was big and green, so that was fairly easy to spot, but the rest weren't as obvious." He sighed, stretching back in his chair as the hint of despondency returned to his voice, "It's not like it matters anyway. The visual's nice enough."

There was a moment's silence as they both stared entranced at the solar system above their heads, the planets moving slowly around the blazing sun. As the program focused in on the outer planets, Booth glanced over at Brennan, asking quietly, "You going to come in and watch?" She didn't move, torn between the general immorality involved in using company facilities for private gain and her desire not to leave the comforting seclusion of the theater. Seeing her hesitation, Booth added, "The show'll be running whether you're here or not - I don't know how you turn it off."

Persuaded by his words, she walked carefully towards the center of the dome, feeling as though she was stepping into another world. The film was now showing a recreation of Neptune, and the room was bathed in an eerie blue light, strangely reminiscient of an aquarium, as Temperance made her way down Booth's row, wary of stepping on her dress in the disorienting darkness.

He looked over at her as she approached, the sapphire light glinting off the silver neckline to her dress and painting her pale skin a light blue color. Fully aware that she was avoiding the party outside, Booth found no reason to speak, instead just gesturing to the chair next to him and fixing his eyes back on the moving images as she sat down, removing her painful shoes before copying Booth's position and letting her feet rest on the seat back while slouching into the comfortable chair.

"Ah!"

Brennan's cry of pain shocked them both, and Booth immediately sat upright in concern, ignoring the previously fascinating sights. "What happened?"

Feeling guilty at the worried tone in his voice, she shook her head, allaying his fears. "Nothing, it's just these pins." She lifted her hands to the back of her head, trying in vain to tug out the hair grips that had just dug further into her scalp. "Go back to watching the show."

Even as she spoke she knew he wouldn't do as she asked. Turning to face her, Booth put his hands on her shoulders and faced her away from him, allowing him access to her hair. She began to protest, but he cut her off, his voice quiet but firm, "Let me."

He offered no further argument and silence quickly descended once again as his nimble fingers moved to her head, gently pulling out the thin grips from her tightly-styled hair. Unable to look up at the ceiling, Temperance could only stare straight ahead as the lights danced prettily across the rows of seats, and wondered why Booth was so uncharacteristically silent.

Her attempts at understanding her partner's behavior proved to be futile. As his fingers sifted tenderly through her hair, her skin started to tingle and her mind was robbed of any coherent thoughts. He worked with an impressive logic, starting from the nape of her neck and moving slowly upwards in a zig-zag pattern, locating the pins through touch rather than sight and then capturing them between his short nails, easing them smoothly out of her auburn hair. She felt herself relax under his featherlight touch, as though he removed some of her stress and frustration with each grip he collected.

"I'm done."

Surprised and mildly disappointed by his quiet statement, Brennan turned round to find he was already back in his chair, eyes fixed upwards while Saturn now rotated above them. Still not wishing to speak, she relaxed back in the chair, propping up her stockinged feet and letting her dress slide to her knees. Mutely, she watched as the orange-red rings were magnified and reduced, uncertain of what to say to her partner, but deciding that he'd talk to her if he wanted to.

"I feel kind of bad for Pluto."

She looked over at him with a confused frown, unable to believe that this was the reason for his melancholy mood. Booth's eyes were a mixture of emotions as he stared upwards, speaking as though to himself, "I mean, one day, he's a planet. He's got a place in the solar system, other planets around him, a definite role to fulfill. People know he's there. And then the next day, someone just decides that he's not good enough anymore and so they kick him out and leave him on his own."

Temperance was deeply perplexed now, but said nothing, hoping Booth would enlighten her as to his sudden empathy with the former planet. He continued, emotion now creeping into his voice, "It's not like he asked to be a planet in the first place. But it happened, and he stepped up, and was a pretty good planet for all those years. And now it's like they've thrown all that in his face. What's he supposed to do now? Sure, he could orbit away to join another solar system, but this one's still here and he should always be a part of it."

Ignoring the physical impossibilities of a planet "orbiting away", she cut in, unable to fathom the meaning behind his words, but at least getting the basic principle, "Booth, I don't think you're talking about Pluto anymore."

Booth said nothing for a few moments, seemingly unaware of this fact himself. Lowering his eyes to a spot somewhere in the darkness in front of him, he stated quietly, "I was supposed to have Parker tonight."

Still not entirely sure why he was so dejected, she hazarded a guess, "Did Rebecca give you a hard time about it?"

He shook his head, an ironic smile playing on his lips. "She was fine about it for once."

Searching for another reason, Brennan tried again, asking bluntly, "Was Parker disappointed?"

There was a pause and it seemed painful for Booth to answer, "No."

Failing to see the problem, she said optimistically, "Well, that's good, right?"

"No, Bones, it's not good!" he snapped loudly. He took a deep breath before turning to face her with a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

Waving away his apology, she asked again, somewhat taken aback by what he'd just said, "You _want_ your son to be disappointed?"

Putting his head in his hands, he said quietly, "Of course I don't. No parent would. I just want him to want me, that's all."

She offered no response and he leaned back again, his eyes forward as he explained, "Drew's moved in with Rebecca and now he's all Parker talks about. Every time I get to see him, he spends the whole day telling me that Drew did this, and Drew can do that. Even the stupid little things, like reading him a story or making him a snack, Drew can apparently do better than me."

Brennan could hear the anger in his voice as he spoke, but that was almost drowned out by the hurt in his words. "I've tried, you know? I've taken him to the zoo, the park, this museum, everywhere he used to like to go, but I just keep screwing it up. I'd forget he hates the dark, or I wouldn't pack the right stuff, or I'd yell at him for something he didn't do. And every time I do mess up, I feel like I'm driving him closer and closer to Drew." His voice became bitter as he mocked, "Look Parker, see how crappy your old daddy is compared to your new one?"

He took a deep breath, before letting the repressed emotions pour out of him further. "And now every time I can't see him, he doesn't care. When I spoke to him at night, it used to make him really happy to tell me about his day at school, but now even that seems like a chore." He looked up at her for the first time, sheer helplessness in his eyes as he asked softly, "What am I supposed to do, Bones? I'm losing my own son..."

Brennan felt helplessness surge through her too as she met his eyes, knowing she was no expert on domestic relationships. Having no choice but to go with what she knew, she spoke slowly, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say, "All humans change and adapt as they grow older, and this happens very quickly in infants. Likes, dislikes, fears, enthusiasms all change with time, and it's probable that Parker is just growing up."

She saw a flash of panic in Booth's eyes and hurriedly continued, "But no matter what age you are, there's always a biological and social connection between you and your parents. It's evolution's way of perpetuating the species; children and parents have firm ties established so parents will care for children in their youth and children will care for their parents when they are too old to look after themselves." She gave him a small smile. "Forgetting that your child doesn't like the planetarium is not enough to destroy bonds forged by a millenia of evolution."

For the first time that evening a genuine smile crossed Booth's face and he said sincerely, "Thank you, Bones."

She returned the smile and their gaze held for a moment, their faces illuminated by the lights from above. The color of the room suddenly changed, jolting them out of their reverie, and they both leaned back in the chairs simultaneously and somewhat quickly. Staring up at the image of Mercury that was now covering the dome, Booth said with a smile, "Good to know I'm not going to be plutoed then."

Watching as the small yellowish planet was replaced by a familiar green and blue one, Brennan stated, "If we were to apply a planetary comparison accurately to your situation, I would say you're more like Earth."

"Okay..." he replied, unsure if he wanted to know what prompted that thought.

She was going to tell him anyway. "I only say that because it's the people on Earth who set these boundaries on Space. There's no firm order to the universe, only the constructs that we impose on it. In the same way, you're the one imposing criteria on your relationship with your son by measuring it in phone calls and day trips. You're his father, and that's the only part of any of this that isn't subject to opinion."

Unexpectedly reassured by her words, Booth glanced over at her with a grin. "Bones, you're getting way better at this whole metaphor thing." The look on her face told him she was horrified by this news and his grin only widened. Earth vanished from view, only to be replaced by a misty green planet and he shrugged as he said casually, "Well, if I'm Earth, that makes you Venus."

Brennan raised her eyebrows, almost insulted by the comparison. "In what way am I Venus?"

"Because you're sat next to me," he answered simply.

She rolled her eyes. "By that logic I could be Mars - that's the other planet "sat next to" Earth."

He smiled, amused by how seriously she was taking the discussion. "Yeah, but Mars is a guy planet. You're not a guy."

Before she could argue further, the light from the ceiling disappeared as the show ended, with soft lighting appearing around the edges of the dome to guide them out. Instinctively getting to his feet with a groan, Booth sighed, "Guess that's our cue to leave." He checked his watch. "It's late enough for us to get out of here if you want a ride home? Unless you'd prefer to stay and chat to the rich people some more..."

Brennan was on her feet in a flash, eager for any opportunity to avoid the rest of the party. "A ride would be great." She moved to put her feet in her shoes again, but Booth stopped her.

"You might not want to do that - I put all those hair grips in your shoe for safe-keeping."

Glancing down, she saw the nest of pins in her shoe and picked up the heels instead, secretly grateful for any excuse not to wear them. Tiredly, they made their way to the exit, both lulled into a sleepy state by the dark silence of the dormant planetarium. Opening the door, they headed down the corridor together, doing their best to look innocent and composed, which was difficult given that Booth's jacket was slung over his shoulder and his bow-tie was undone, while his partner had dishevelled hair and no shoes.

Reaching the end of the corridor and the doors to the parking lot, Brennan and Booth's plan for an inconspicuous getaway was foiled as someone cleared their throat loudly behind them.

Turning round guiltily, they were met with the smiling face of Angela Montenegro who said teasingly, "Subtle. Very subtle. Almost as though you didn't just sneak out of the deserted planetarium together."

Realising how their situation looked, they began to protest, but she waved them silent. "I'm not judging." She indicated the hors d'oeuvres in her hand with a grin. "I'm just here for some time-out snacks." The absence of Hodgins made it very clear to the two partners exactly what she was taking a time out from and they both suppressed a shudder.

Seeing that they obviously didn't want to talk, Angela backed away, more than happy just to see them leaving together. "I'll just let you guys go... But, Bren?" Temperance looked up at her question and the artist finished with a knowing smile, "Hope you enjoyed the Big Bang."

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_This whole story was partly written so I could use the verb "plutoed" in a fic. I only found out it was a real word yesterday and so was very excited by the knowledge._

_Reviews will go to a good home. Namely, my inbox. :)_


	5. I've Seen How You Shine

_A/N: I apologise in advance for the deeply cliched and cheese-tastic nature of this story. I'm trying to make these one-shots original, but I just needed to get some of the Parker fluff out of my system. Hope you enjoy it anyway._

_Oh, also, no offence intended by any of the religious references. I'm not trying to make any comment on the validity of anyone's beliefs and anything written is intended to be representative of the characters, not the author._

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**I've seen how you shine...**

"Twelve green bottles standing on the wall, twelve green bottles standing on the wall, and if one green bottle should accident'ly fall, there'd be-"

Glancing in the rearview mirror, Booth smiled to himself when he saw his son counting quietly on his fingers as he tried to work out what number he'd be left with should one green bottle take an unfortunate tumble.

"Eleven green bottles standing on the wall!" Parker sang triumphantly, before continuing unabated, "Eleven green bottles standing on the wall, and if one..."

Hearing the song start up again, Booth promptly zoned out. Parker had recently been taught the green bottle song at school, as well as the numbers from one to twenty, and the combination of these two had provided hours of endless amusement for the five-year-old. He was now into his third rendition of the day, having sung it once over breakfast and provided an encore on the way to church, and had now obviously decided that his dad needed to hear it again as they headed out to lunch.

However, Booth's fatherly enthusiasm was now waning, to the extent that he was imagining the green bottles lined up on a wall as he took carefully aimed shots at each of them. Hearing silence descend over the car again as Parker calculating which number came before nine, he decided to seize the opportunity, asking hopefully, "You do anything fun at Sunday School this morning?"

The ploy worked, and Parker nodded enthusiastically, his legs swinging in his child-seat as he answered, "Yeah! The teacher taught us about Noses!"

Puzzled by his answer, Booth tried quickly to recall a Bible story about noses, before working out that "Noses" was a five-year-old's amalgamation of "Noah" and "Moses." Smiling, he asked curiously, "This Noses, did he build an ark or did he lead the people out of Egypt?"

"Daddy..." his son chided pityingly. "It was Moah who built an ark. Noses went up a mountain and got some tables."

Looking at him in the mirror, Booth corrected gently, "Moses, Parker. _Moses_ went up the mountain to get some _tablets_."

The little boy's eyes widened and he asked, sympathetically, "Why did Moses need tablets? Did he have a sore tummy? 'Cause Mommy has that and she said it hurts so she takes tablets to make it better."

Booth's mind was filled with an image of Moses with menstrual cramps and he explained, "No, Moses' tummy was just fine. The tablets were what the Ten Commandments were written on."

Parker's face lit up in remembrance. "That's what we learned about today! The Ten Codamnments!"

"Can you remember what the Ten Commandments are?" he asked encouragingly, subtly stressing the correct pronunciation of the word "Commandments."

His son nodded confidently and began, "There were a whole bunch about God, saying that you have to be extra nice to him because there's only one of him."

_Thou shalt not worship false idols, thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain, thou shalt not worship any other gods than me, _Booth mentally recited, translating his son's simplifications into the Biblical instructions he himself had been taught as a child.

"Then there's one saying that you have to rest and go to church on a Sunday, because God needs a nap too," Parker informed him.

_Thou shalt keep the Sabbath holy, _Booth thought, picturing God taking a nap on a cloud somewhere. "Can you remember any more?"

"Don't lie, don't steal and don't want what your neighbor's got," he counted off on his fingers before looking over at his father. "I don't want what Tommy's got, Daddy. My slide's way bigger than his."

"I think it means people in general, kiddo," his father said, carefully. "You should just be happy with what you've got." Remembering the other danger involved, he added, "But you shouldn't show off about it either."

Parker nodded. "Okay, Daddy." He looked down at his fingers. "Did I get them all yet?"

"Three more," Booth prompted, quietly impressed by his son's memory. "But if you give up, I can help you out."

Biting his lip hard in concentration, Parker thought hard, unwilling to admit defeat. Inspiration suddenly struck. "Oh, be nice to your mommy and daddy!"

Booth glanced behind him as he drove, saying teasingly, "Yeah, and that includes going to brush your teeth when we tell you to."

Parker smiled guiltily, but made no promises, instead going on to the next commandment, "God also says not to kill." He contemplated for a moment, before adding, "But Miss Mitchell said that I wouldn't go to Hell for hitting a fly with my shoe yesterday, so that's okay."

Booth swallowed hard, trying to keep a smile on his face despite knowing he'd done far worse in his time that hit a fly with a shoe. Deciding that Parker didn't need to know that his dad's place in Heaven wasn't so guaranteed, he asked quietly, lost in thought, "And the last one?"

Oblivious to his father's inner turmoil, the child pondered further, before guessing, "Don't be an adult?"

Too late, Booth realised exactly what the last commandment was and that he really didn't want to have to explain it to his five-year-old son. Taking a deep breath, he tried to phrase it in the most child-friendly way possible, "The last commandment says not to commit adultery." Pre-empting Parker's question, he continued, "You don't have to worry about this one till you're older, but it means that when you get married, you should always love your wife." _And not sleep around, _his mind finished pointedly.

Thankfully, Parker didn't press any further about the meaning of adultery, instead choosing that moment to announce, "I'm getting married."

It was all Booth could do to keep the car on the road as he asked with incredulous amusement, "Married? Who are you getting married to?"

"My girlfriend," the boy answered simply, before correcting himself, "Well, one of my girlfriends."

"One of your girlfriends?" he repeated, still slightly stunned. "How many girlfriends do you have?"

Parker counted carefully on his fingers before stating matter-of-factly, "Four."

Booth's mouth fell open, but he felt a small, and possibly immoral, surge of fatherly pride at his son's answer. Before he could form a reply, the little boy continued, "There's Jess and Charlotte at school, and Hannah at swimming, and Emma at church. She's really pretty and she said we're going to get married."

Looking in the mirror, Booth saw that his son was now smiling happily, clearly excited about the prospect of marrying the "really pretty" Emma. Not wanting to crush his dreams but being unwilling to encourage him in this respect, Booth decided on a middle ground and said casually, "You know, Parker, when you get married, you're going to have to kiss your wife."

Parker was evidently aghast at this news. His eyes widened as he said, terrified, "But I don't want to get cooties."

Smirking to himself, Booth said helpfully, "Well, you don't have to get married just yet. Maybe wait till you're a bit older." Glancing back, he saw that Parker seemed content with this solution to avoid the dreaded cooties.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, bub?" his father replied, smiling at the little boy's tendency to make his name a question whenever he wanted to talk.

"Is that why you and Mommy didn't get married?" he asked innocently. "Because of the cooties?"

Booth thought briefly of the amount of cooties involved in the child's conception, before returning his attention to the more important question his son had asked, one which he'd hoped Rebecca would've been the one to answer. However, he'd never been one to back away from anything as far as his son was concerned, and so he quickly considered the best way to tell him the answer.

Speaking sincerely, he met Parker's expectant gaze in the rearview mirror, "It wasn't because of the cooties, Parker. When two people get married, they have to love each other very much and want to spend the rest of their lives together. Me and your mom, we loved each other a lot, and we still do, but we didn't want to spend our whole lives together. And that doesn't mean that we love you any less than parents who are married - it's just how things worked out."

He looked nervously at his son, praying he'd understand, and felt relief surge through him as Parker nodded thoughtfully, before saying with a smile, "I like it this way. It means I get two houses and two bedrooms and two sets of toys."

Booth returned the smile, knowing that the topic would arise again when he was older, but currently thankful for his son's optimistic nature and overriding love of toys.

As the car reached the turning for the Jeffersonian, he said cheerfully, "I just need to make a quick stop here to pick up some papers, alright, buddy? Then we can go get you something to eat."

"Can I have a burger?" Parker asked hopefully.

"And fries," Booth added, his grin widening when he heard the cheer from the backseat.

Parking his car in the middle of a No Parking zone by the door, he got out and quickly unfastened the now ravenous child from his car seat before rummaging in the trunk for a spare tie. Finding a bright red one, he crouched by his son, holding his shoulders to prevent him running straight into the lab.

"Listen, Parker, there's loads of stuff in here that's for only for grown-ups to see, okay? Now, you can either be a really good boy and keep your eyes closed till we reach Dr Brennan's office, or..." He held up the tie. "I can put this over your eyes so you won't be tempted to peek. Which one would you prefer?"

There was really no need to ask, since the boy's eyes lit up in excitement when he saw the tie. "Is it like Blind Man's Bluff? 'Cause we played that at school and I was really good at it and catched loads of people."

"Yeah, it's kind of like that," Booth offered with a encouraging nod. "Only you don't have to catch anyone; you just have to find your way to Dr Brennan's office."

"Can I catch _her_?" he asked, brown eyes full of anticipation.

"It's Sunday, bub; she probably won't be there." Parker's face fell and Booth quickly added, "But you can catch her if she is there."

Seemingly pacified, Parker turned around and Booth tied the red tie loosely over his eyes, glad that his son was enjoying the "not letting the dead bodies scar you for life" game. When the blindfold was firmly in place, he took him by the hand, leading him carefully to the door while Parker giggled uncontrollably at the new game.

Despite Booth's earlier assertation that Brennan wouldn't be in the lab on Sunday, Temperance was currently sitting at her desk, filling in the records for the three John Does she'd managed to identify in that time that Booth and his son had spent at church. Except for her, the lab was completely deserted, with all the rest of the squints using the weekend to relax, not to pore over more bodies than they already encountered in a working week.

It was for this reason that Temperance was more than a little surprised to see her partner appear at her door, calling instructions to a blindfolded and laughing five-year-old.

"Forward, forward... Now left a little." There was a pause. "No, your other left, Parker." There was a giggle. "Forward, forward, left a little more..." Brennan sat in bewildered silence as Booth guided his son around her desk. "Forward again. Once more. And... now."

On Booth's command, Parker lunged forward, grabbing Brennan's legs with a victorious shout, "Got you!"

Panicked by the situation, Temperance looked up at her partner, unsure of what to do with the small child who was now clutching her calves. Smirking slightly at her reaction, Booth quickly moved over to Parker, slipping his tie off his head and saying enthusiastically, "Nice job, kiddo."

Parker beamed. "I catched her!"

"Caught," Brennan corrected instinctively as Booth hoisted Parker into his arms. Father and son shared a knowing glance before Booth turned his attention back to his partner.

"Why are you working, Bones? It's Sunday, you should be having the day off."

"It's nap day," Parker chimed in knowledgeably.

Addressing Booth, she stated, "I don't need a day off, and I think I'm a little old for naps."

Answering before his father, the little boy said firmly, "God's napping."

Seeing the expression on Brennan's face at this statement, Booth quickly changed the subject before his partner started a religious debate with a five-year-old, "You got the Milman case file there, Bones? I'm supposed to present it to the DA first thing tomorrow, so I need to look over it tonight."

Momentarily distracted from the possible existence of God, Brennan quickly retrieved the file, handing it to Booth's free hand. "Was that everything?"

He tucked the file under his arm with a nod, "Yep, that's everything." Shifting Parker's weight to a more comfortable position, he flashed her a hopeful smile, "You know, Bones, you are allowed to have the occasion day off. Do something fun; read a book, do a jigsaw, buy a TV and watch it..."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Booth."

"You sure?" he asked, concern in his eyes. "You could always come with-"

His offer was interrupted as Parker took an overexaggerated sniff of Brennan's office, before declaring, "It doesn't smell as icky in here."

Confused, she looked to Booth for an explanation and he dutifully elaborated, "When we came in, Parker thought the rest of the lab smelled like burned lunch meat, but it really doesn't smell so bad in here."

Fully aware that the smell was from a burned body that had come in earlier that morning, Brennan quickly realised that Parker had been wearing Booth's tie over his eyes to protect at least one of his senses from being exposed to the remains that were lying on the tables in the lab. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the smell.

Turning to the little boy, who was now taking deep breaths of the non-stinky air, she explained, "My friend has some scented oils in her office, so I borrowed one to cover up the smell in here." She pointed to her coffee table. "It's in the green bottle on there."

Booth's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head at her desperately, but it was too late, as Parker had already launched into song.

"Twenty green bottles standing on the wall, twenty green bottles standing on the wall, and if one green bottle should accident'ly fall, there'd be-"

Taking advantage of Parker's math-based pause, Booth said quickly, "See you tomorrow, Bones. Don't work too hard, alright?"

"Nineteen green bottles standing on the wall, nineteen green bottles..."

Temperance just nodded in return, watching as Booth carefully slipped the tie over his son's eyes again before heading back out of the lab, file in one arm and singing child in the other. Oblivious as she was to most social indicators, Brennan knew the human body, and couldn't help but notice the lightness of Booth's step, despite carrying a fairly substantial five-year-old. She'd seen him walk heavily when he was unhappy, quickly when he was excited and stiffly when he was angry, but the only time she'd seen him with the proverbial spring in his step was when he was with his son.

Parker's joyous, if not completely tuneful, singing filled the lab, and an involuntary smile spread across Brennan's face as she saw Booth bounce his son in his arms in time to the song. They headed out of the door, and she watched as Parker held his own nose with one hand and his father's with the other, to protect them both against the smell.

Turning back to her work as they left, it dawned on her for the first time that, as satisfying as he found his job, Booth's favorite role in life was always going to be that of a father. Contemplating this conclusion, as well as the small glimpse she'd just had of a functioning family unit, Temperance turned back to her file, humming under her breath,

"Ten green bottles standing on a wall..."

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_Reviews will be very much appreciated as always. Even if you're just telling me to write proper stuff. :)_


	6. But I Can't Make You Mine

_A/N: Huge, huge thanks to all those who've been reviewing so far - I'm so grateful for each and every one of your comments._

_This chapter is a different tense and person from normal, so apologies if first person/present tense bugs you - it's only for one chapter. This one's rated T and I hope you enjoy it as I found it difficult to write (and nearly cried when I was writing the ending.)_ **_

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_**

**But I can't make you mine, it is true...**

I don't remember the last time I told someone I was in love with them. In fact, I don't think I ever have.

A few men have said it to me over the years though. The first was a guy from my biology class in college whom I'd been dating for a little over a month. I later found out that confessing his undying love was part of his standard seduction technique to get girls into bed with him, but unfortunately it had the opposite effect on me, since I was slightly disturbed by such a serious declaration so early on in our relationship and promptly broke up with him.

The second occasion ended with much the same result. This time I'd been dating the man for six months, and it was when we were in bed, after having an anniversary dinner, that he decided to announce that he loved me. Unfortunately, his mid-coitus proclamation was not reciprocated and after finishing the most awkward and perfunctory sex I've ever encountered, we too broke up.

The third and final time I've ever heard those three little words was with one of my most serious partners. We'd been seeing each other for approximately eighteen months, and he told me he loved me during a romantic dinner that he'd cooked himself. I again didn't return the sentiment, telling him that I didn't feel it yet, but our relationship managed to hold out for another month until he couldn't wait any longer for me to "feel it" and we went our separate ways.

But I think I'm finally ready. It's been building for years now, all my feelings falling slowly into place and all my knowledge and emotions combining to form one definite conclusion - I am in love with Seeley Booth.

We've both felt the shift in our relationship recently, but we've so far dodged the topic of our true feelings towards each other, instead choosing to skirt the issue and to cover it with jokes and teasing when things have gotten a little more intimate than usual.

However, I am not, by nature, a woman who avoids speaking her mind, and I refuse to let this charade go on any longer. I've been patient, I've waited for him to say something to me, since he's always been the more emotionally astute of the two of us, but he's not said a word. So, like so many other things between us, the onus is on me to get it out into the open and hopefully move on from there. At the very least we can resolve some of the tension between us at the lab.

Coming to the same conclusion that I've been reaching all night, I check myself over in the mirror one final time. My heeled boots are comfortable yet sleek, and my usual outfit of well-fitting jeans, a white shirt and a figure-hugging black jacket mean that I look suitably professional as well as ensuring that I can carry out the more practical, human-remains-oriented aspects of my job.

Sighing, I run my fingers through my hair, watching in the mirror as the dark locks fall around my shoulders. Normally, I'd tie it up, since loose hair and close inspection of decaying remains is not the most pleasant of combinations, but I want it down when I see him. According to Angela, I look good with my hair down as it makes my face appear softer. I'm not entirely sure if that's a positive thing, since I'm not really a woman who excels in being "soft", but I trust her opinions, especially when it comes to impressing men.

Oh, that sounds horrible. "Impressing men." Since when have I been someone concerned with impressing men? I'm independent, I've got a successful career and I've certainly never needed validation from the opposite sex to feel satisfied.

But Booth isn't the opposite sex. Well, obviously he is in the technical sense, but he's not representative of the male population as a whole. I've had my fair share of partners over the years, some more serious than others, and I never felt anything close to what I feel for Booth when I was with them. Yes, they were handsome, good in bed and everything else one would traditionally look for in a partner, but there was still something missing, something I didn't even know was missing until I met him.

Physically, he's impressive. As much as I enjoy my work, sometimes inspecting him in the lab is far more enjoyable than inspecting a dead body. He usually wears his suit to work, but I much prefer him in jeans and a t-shirt. He always wears his jeans low on his hips, revealing the defined dips below his pelvic bones when he raises his arms, and I can't help but think of gently tracing those contours with my fingernails. His tees are good at revealing contours too, showing off the smooth ridges of his upper arms and fitting tightly around his abdomen, allowing me to watch his muscles flex as he moves.

In addition to his physique, there's something about his masculinity that I find inexplicably attractive. I don't want children, but there's some part of me that instinctively responds to his virile, confident nature. His physical strength combined with his protective and dominant nature all add to his air of alpha male superiority, and as much as I dislike being relegated to beta female, that cocky charm somehow manages to turn me on.

It never used to. When we first started working together, his overbearing and arrogant behavior was suffocating, and everything we ever said to each other seemed to be an insult or a sarcastic snipe. I'm not sure where it changed, or even if it did change, but now when we argue, it seems more intimate, more arousing. Afterwards, I can't stop myself from picturing ways the argument could've ended, either with him pushing me against a wall and letting his mouth work the annoyance out of me, or me pushing him down on the carpet and erasing all the kinds of frustration between us.

However, there's more than just sexual chemistry involved. It's only recently that I've realised it's the emotional attraction between us that separates this from any other relationship I've had, and it's this realisation which has finally motivated me to say something to him.

Booth's one of the best men I know. He's a loving father, a dedicated agent and a loyal friend, but it feels like he's been so much more to me than that. He's always been there for me. Always. From the big events, like an attempt on my life, to simple occasions, such as offering advice or encouragement, he's been there, with his ridiculous ties, flamboyant socks and comforting smile. I don't trust people easily, and haven't for a long time, but I can say with confidence that I trust him with my life. It's just saying those three other words that worries me.

Mulling this over, I lock my door and head down to my car, running possible scenarios through my head the whole way to work. I know what I'm going to do when I get there; I need to ask him to come to my office, sit down with him casually and then bring up the subject of how I feel. However, I'm not sure exactly what words I'm going to use, since I don't want to overwhelm him if he's not expecting this conversation but at the same time I don't want there to be any room for doubt regarding my sincerity and intentions. Hopefully once we're alone together, I'll be able to find the right words and get all this frustration and tension out of my system.

Admittedly, I'm not sure how he's going to react either. In my opinion, the best outcome would be for him to say it back to me before pulling me into a kiss. But this is real life, not a romance novel, and on some level, I'm prepared for the possibility of rejection, finding out that all this is just mixed signals, and that he would act this way towards any woman that he was with in this situation.

Either of these results would be acceptable, meaning we could move forward as a couple, or just carry on as we are, without there being too much of an effect on our current status. What I'm most worried about, though, is _her_.

From the moment we met, we disliked each other, and I'm fairly sure that her past with Booth is one of the main reasons why I don't get on well with her. True, we've both had times where Booth was ours and ours alone, either working with him previously or being partnered with him for the last year, but there's so much I don't know about their time together. I'm fairly certain that, even if they were sleeping together in the past, they're not anymore, but I can't be one hundred percent sure of that.

I'd say that I'm pretty good at reading him now, but I still can't work out exactly what's going on between them. Sometimes they seem to be completely professional, discussing the case in the lab in the same way they would talk to Zach, Hodgins or Angela. But sometimes I catch sight of small gestures, like the touching of hands or the way Booth moves in close to whisper in her ear, which makes me wonder if they're involved in something more personal than case-work.

But that doesn't matter now. Parking my car in my conveniently-located space, I walk quickly into the lab, trying to stop my pulse from racing. There's no use speculating and postulating further or what may or may not exist between them. I'm going to tell him how I feel, and if he turns round and tells me he's in love with her then I'll just have to deal with that. Yes, it'll hurt, but it's not like I haven't dealt with pain before. This conversation's been coming for years and I'm not letting myself back away from it just because of a suspicion.

The glass doors slide open and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I look round, hoping fervently that he's there so I can get it over and done with. It's with relief that I see him almost immediately, loitering on the stairs to the platform as he flips his poker chip in his hand like a large, garish-colored coin. My relief is only increased when I see that she's not around yet, giving me a chance to speak to Booth without interruptions.

Taking a deep breath, I approach, moving to stand at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at him with what I hope is a confident smile.

His poker chip lands securely in his hand as he smiles back at me and speaks, his tone relaxed and cheerful, "Morning."

Not wishing to waste any more time, I get straight to the point, trying to keep my voice casual, "Can I speak to you in my office for a few minutes?"

I watch as his brow wrinkles momentarily in a puzzled frown, before he raises his eyebrows again with a shrug. "Sure." He walks down the short flight of stairs, asking with interest, "So, what's this ab-"

The doors slide open again before he can finish his sentence and he is instantly distracted, barely aware of the grin spreading across his own face as she walks into the lab and moves straight towards the platform. I hardly notice her as she comes, being unable to take my eyes off Booth.

His face practically lights up as he sees her, a mischievous twinkle appearing in his eyes and a contented smile playing on his lips. I stand silent as he greets her in the same way he addressed me moments earlier, except this time I can hear the enthusiasm and the sincerity in his words. She returns it with a smile and a nod before joining the rest of the team on the platform, leaving me standing mutely on the ground.

That one moment said more to me than an entire conversation with Booth ever could. My heart sinks as I watch him follow her with his gaze, still smiling to himself at the sight of her. I feel a lump begin to rise in my throat and I swallow it, suppressing the tears that are threatening to fall. It becomes painfully clear that I was fooling myself, that even if they're not together now, they will be soon, and that any declarations of love today should not be between me and Booth.

Still trying to maintain my composure, I can only shake my head when the agent turns back to me, inquiring curiously, "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Forcing a smile, I manage to choke out, "Nothing. It doesn't matter." He eyes me with concern which only serves to make my chest ache more. Waving it away, I say firmly, "I've got remains to examine; I'll see you later?"

I don't wait for a reply as I walk off, leaving him standing behind me, perplexed. Walking slowly through the lab, I hear his footsteps on the metal steps as he jogs back up to the platform and to her. Telling myself that it's all for the best, I push back the tears once more but feel my heart thud painfully as I hear him call out to her,

"What have you got for me, Bones?"

Letting go of all my carefully planned possibilities and scenarios, I enter the pathology lab, knowing that she's not the only one who's got something for him, but that hers is all he'll ever want.

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_Please share your thoughts/opinions - I'd be really interested to hear them. _

_(This was supposed to be set mid-way though Season 2 by the way.)_


	7. Midsummer Mountain

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last story - I'm glad I managed to mislead some of you :) For anyone who's still confused, the narrator's identity was revealed in the last few lines. (Clue: not Brennan.) _

_This chapter is rated T, and really isn't the most deep and meaningful of stories. It could be seen as a prequel to chapter 2, simply because I concocted a nice little backstory about there being a body in the mountain woods, and in this story, B&B are investigating a body in some mountain woods. Yep, I am that lazy a writer :) Hope you enjoy it anyway._

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**You're a midsummer mountain in bloom...**

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Lifting her kit out of the trunk of Booth's SUV, Brennan frowned in confusion at his incredulous expression. "What's the matter?"

Booth just stared at her in disbelief. She stared back, not comprehending, and he gestured behind her with a sigh. "That, Bones. That is the matter."

Glancing over her shoulder, everything became clear, and she turned back to face him with an innocent smile. "I told you we'd have to walk up to the scene today."

"Yeah, which is why I wore boots," Booth replied, tapping his feet irritably on the stony ground in demonstration. "You somehow failed to mention that I'd need a sherpa and a pack-horse."

Her smirk was getting harder to hide, but she persevered nonetheless. "It's just a hill, Booth."

This declaration was met with a derisive snort as he corrected, "No, Bones, a hill is a what Jack and Jill strolled up to get to a well. This is not a hill. Jack and Jill would pass out through lack of oxygen before they reached the top."

Securing her portable kit on her back, Brennan stated firmly, "I'm sure Jack and Jill would manage just fine, although head injuries at altitude are never good. Besides, we don't need to walk the whole way up, just to the body."

"And how far up the hill is the body?" he asked, hoping the answer would involve a very small fraction.

"About three-quarters," she replied cheerfully, handing another backpack to Booth to carry. "It shouldn't take more than three hours to get there."

"Three hours?" She continued to inspect the map closely, and he repeated, more loudly this time, "Three hours?!"

Looking up, she said in a mocking tone, "Yes, three. It's the number before four and after two."

Not waiting for his response, she walked briskly over to the trail head and started the ascent up the hill. Still reeling from the early information about the duration of the climb, Booth quickly slammed the trunk shut and jogged after her, locking the SUV as he went and trying to quell the nausea in his stomach.

"You know, you could've told me this last night," he complained when he'd caught up to her. "A little warning would've been nice."

Temperance felt the smirk tug at her lips again, but kept a straight face as she answered sincerely, "I told you the body was up on the hill and that we'd have to walk. What more did you want me to say?"

Striding alongside her, Booth said with a groan, "How about "it's a three hour hike up a mountain tomorrow, maybe you shouldn't drink so much"?"

"I _did_ tell you not to drink so much," she countered pointedly.

Booth sighed in annoyance. "I know you told me, Bones, it's just..." Searching for a suitable analogy, he explained, "You know how you don't like people giving you a conclusion without evidence? Well, you can't just tell me to stop drinking without giving me a good reason for it."

"I'm your partner; you should be able to trust me when I ask you to do something," she said, mildly insulted that he was blaming her for his hangover.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows, saying sarcastically, "Yeah, because you _always_ trust me when I give you case advice without evidence."

Point taken, Brennan swiftly switched tactics. "You shouldn't have been drinking so much anyway. You knew we were on a case and that we had a body to look at this morning."

Not enjoying the lecture, Booth said grumpily, "I know that, _mom_. But I hadn't seen Jimmy for years, and it would've been rude not to go for a drink with him."

"_A_ drink?" she asked, teasingly and her partner grimaced at the memory of the amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before.

"Is it my fault Jimmy likes to drink?" he questioned rhetorically, before adding under his breath, "Should've known he'd end up running a bar."

Maintaining her scolding tone, Temperance said, "You shouldn't even have gone to the bar at all. I told you to get some sleep for today."

"What else was I supposed to do?" he asked, sulking slightly at her rebuke. "We couldn't get up to the body till morning, and it was either sitting in my hotel room, which is tiny by the way, or going out for a drink. It's not like I meant to run into Jimmy... Anyway," he added, with a smug smile, "I seem to remember you being there too."

"I was there to try to get you to go to bed," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh yeah?" Booth challenged, confidently. "And how did you even know I was there?"

"My hotel was next door," she said simply, a smile playing on her lips. "And apparently your voice travels when you sing." He looked down in embarrassment, clearly having forgotten about that part of the evening, and she smiled as she remarked, "You and Jimmy did a very interesting rendition of "I Will Survive"."

He shot her a glare. "You know, one day, you will get drunk and I will be there in the morning to make fun of you."

"I don't drink to excess," she said firmly. "Especially not when I'm supposed to be working."

She moved ahead of him on the trail and Booth sighed in frustration as he quickened his pace, his already aching head protesting at the effort. Catching up to her, he defended himself, "I'm perfectly capable of doing my job. I just wasn't expecting my job to involve mountain-climbing, that's all."

Enjoying his self-inflicted discomfort, Brennan picked up the pace again, smirking as he tried to keep up with her. "You were a Ranger, Booth. Didn't they walk faster than this?"

Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Yeah, but I was prepared for those walks." Looking up at her retreating back, he complained again, "You know, you could've at least told me what was happening today. I'm fairly sure the words "three hour uphill hike" could've persuaded me to go to bed."

Temperance shrugged, knowing he was probably right but deciding against admitting it, instead saying sweetly, "I was trying to tell you, but it was kind of hard to talk to you last night." She glanced back at him as she explained, "You're very... tactile when you've been drinking."

This description was illustrated by her miming a groping motion with her hand and Booth's eyes widened in horror, wondering which part of his partner he'd squeezed in such a ungentlemanly fashion. Feeling awkward and embarrassed, he stammered, "Look, Bones, I'm sorry if I was inappropriate with you last night. I didn't mean-"

He was cut off by her laughter. "Booth, you weren't inappropriate with _me_." Pre-empting his question, she said, innocently, "But you'd have to ask Jimmy whether you slapping his ass was inappropriate in the context of your normal relationship."

Cheeks flushed in humiliation, he said dejectedly, "Please tell me you're making this up."

She shook her head with a grin. "And that's just what I saw when I was there. I don't know what happened after I left you two alone together..."

His eyes snapped back up to hers. "Whoa! No, okay? There was no togetherness of any kind. Me and Jimmy, we're buddies from way back. We served together, and I hadn't seen him for years, so we were just catching up and having a drink like old times, and there's nothing wrong with that."

Temperance's smile widened at his hurried and defensive explanation, and she gave him a patronising nod. "Of course."

Catching the hint of sarcasm in her words, Booth opened his mouth, ready to argue, but somehow couldn't find the words needed, instead responding with a frustrated growl and a clenching of fists in annoyance. This only caused her to smile more and he pointed his finger at her accusingly, "You are a sadistic woman, Bones. Not only are you dragging me up a mountain at 8.30am and enjoying the fact that I'm exhausted and hungover, but you also seem to be getting a kick out of mocking me."

Brennan said nothing in reply, merely quickening the pace again and smiling as Booth struggled to keep up. She looked back at him, saying sincerely but with a knowing smile, "Glad to hear you had a good time last night."

Booth glowered at her, his head pounding as his feet thumped hard against the rocks, and muttered bitterly, "Sadistic."

Silence descended over the walking partners for a while as they made their way carefully over a large cluster of rocks, trying to find convenient footholds. They were both relieved, Booth admittedly more so than Brennan, when they reached a more grassy slope between the trees which towered up either side of them. Pausing for breath, they drank gratefully from bottles of water before continuing on their way, noting that the mountain looked no less high when one was actually climbing it than it did from the ground.

After another ten minutes of silent, concentrated climbing, Booth's contented groan filled the air. Turning round in bemusement, Brennan saw her partner walking backwards up the hill, smiling at the chance to rest some of his tired muscles. She paused to watch him, hands on her hips as she warned, "That won't do you any good. The human body was designed to walk forward, not backward."

Petulantly ignoring her, Booth continued to walk backwards, enjoying the lack of pain in his legs. As he picked up speed, he passed her, saying cockily, "Give it a try, Bones. Maybe the human body could do with some changes."

Temperance shook her head, facing him as she followed. "The body developed this way for a reason. Evolution taught us that we're supposed to walk forward."

"Well, at the moment, I'm thinking evolution got it wrong," he pondered with a satisfied grin. "I mean, why would I need to walk forward all the time?"

The large rock behind him answered for her.

Before Brennan could shout a warning, Booth's calf hit the rock, wedging his heel in the grass as he fell over backwards in surprise. He landed hard on his hip bone with a groan of pain as his other foot slid in the dewy grass, causing him to tilt as he fell. Temperance smiled as he sat upright with a dazed expression, but approached to help him back to his feet.

"That would be why you can't walk backward," she said with a know-it-all tone. "Your eyes are in the front of your head."

Rolling his eyes, Booth pulled himself back to his feet but winced loudly when he felt a sharp pain run through his leg. His partner's eyes widened in concern and she moved closer, giving him a cursory glance over. "What hurts?"

Looking down at his leg, he groaned in annoyance. "Oh, man! These were my favorite pair of jeans."

Ignoring his complaints, she moved round to his right leg, and saw the mid-thigh rip in the denim, now stained dark with blood. Biting her lip in sympathy, she caught sight of a jagged rock on the ground where he'd fallen, the tip of which was also colored crimson from where it had punctured Booth's leg.

Rolling up her sleeves, she crouched by his side to get a better look at his injury and was surprised when he quickly moved away, straightening his jacket, "I'm fine, Bones."

"You're bleeding," she helpfully pointed out. "The fabric's only going to irritate it if we don't put a dressing on it."

"We? I can dress myself, you know."

"I'm sure you can," she said as she pulled the small first aid kit out of her backpack. "But while I'm down here..."

Booth swallowed hard, not wishing to give any indication of what his mind leapt to at her words. Wanting to appear composed, he shuffled back over to where she knelt, reluctantly agreeing, "Okay, just stick a bandaid on it and let's get moving."

She looked up at him in expectation. "I'm going to need you to pull your jeans down so I can get a better look at the wound."

"What?" he asked, suddenly panicked. "Bones, I am not taking my pants off in the middle of a National Park."

"I'm not asking you to take them off. Just pull them down so I can see what I'm working with here."

Sighing and silently begging her not to say anything else that could send his already innuendo-laden mind into overdrive, Booth quickly unfastened his belt and button, before unzipping his jeans and letting them fall to his knees. Brennan leaned in close with a low whistle, "It's bigger than it looked."

His throat suddenly became very dry as a completely different scenario for that remark filled his mind. Feeling deeply uncomfortable at her proximity, he said impatiently, "Could you just get on with it please?"

Nodding, she pulled out an antiseptic wipe and carefully dabbed it around his cut. Booth winced at the stinging sensation and jerked away, but she gripped his lower thigh firmly, "Stop moving or I'm not going to be able to do this properly."

Casting his eyes heavenward, he stood still as she continued to clean the wound, trying to ignore the sensations her hand was creating in certain parts of his anatomy. She pressed a gauze pad to his leg and pulled out a bandage before instructing him, "Spread your legs."

Booth froze at her command, deciding that in his alternate sequence of events she would not be the one giving that order. Wishing he'd worn larger boxers than his tight black pair, he edged his legs apart, hoping that would be the only movement from the lower half of his body.

It wasn't, as she spoke again, "Move them further apart. I need to be able to reach round."

Complying, he tried desperately to think of something deeply unarousing to distract himself from what she was doing between his thighs. He'd gone through baseball, hockey, and football before she'd even got the bandage around his leg once, and so then focused all his attention on thoughts of naked old ladies to try and counteract the effects of her smooth knuckles brushing against the inside of his leg. Unsure what to do with his hands, he held them behind his back as though on parade, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms as he tried in vain not to think of his partner kneeling at his crotch in any other circumstances.

"How does that feel?" she asked with interest.

Booth could only nod in reply, unsure if he could form recognisable words with her hands on him like that. Not looking at her, he made a brief attempt at speaking, choking out, "That's great, Bones."

Her satisfied noise was not the most helpful of replies and he felt another twinge in his groin but kept his eyes forward, not wanting to know the full extent of the effect she was having on him.

However, his heart leapt when she said happily, "Alright, all done." Breathing a sigh of relief, he moved quickly away from her, reaching down to pull his jeans up while she packed her first aid kit back into her bag. Breathing heavily, Booth fumbled with the zipper as he said, stumbling over his words, "Uh, thanks for helping out, Bones."

She looked up at him with an open smile. "Anytime."

Taking another deep breath, Booth pulled the zip up on his jeans as Brennan stood, hoisting her pack onto her back again. Preparing to move off, they were both taken by surprise when they heard a loud voice calling from down the hill, "Agent Booth! Dr Brennan!"

Turning to see the source, they saw the local sheriff walking quickly up towards them, waving a small black case as he said jovially, "Found your camera by your truck. Can't go taking pictures of body parts without this."

Brennan nodded gratefully, smiling at the middle-aged man. "Thank you, Sheriff Ricks."

"No problem, ma'am," he said cheerfully. "I was coming up to the scene anyways." Leaning in towards them, he said with a broad smile, "Do you mind if I give you one piece of advice though?"

Booth frowned but his partner just looked at the sheriff expectantly. "By all means."

Clearing his throat, he said, "Look, I know what it's like being a young couple in love, but public indecency is still an offence, including in a National Park." He nodded towards the trees to their right. "Next time, at least take it into the woods, alright? Trust me, it's much more private in there." Giving them a friendly wink, he headed off up the slope, leaving the stunned couple behind him.

Brennan turned to Booth, confused. "What was he talking about?"

He shook his head, with a nervous smile as he lied, "No idea, Bones." Before she could analyse further, he prompted, "Let's go find that body."

Shrugging, she set off after the sheriff, leaving Booth following behind as he mentally added the sheriff's suggestion to his already long list of Temperance-Brennan-related fantasies.

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_Reviews welcomed as always. Thanks for reading._


	8. Heather and Linden

_A/N: Not my favorite chapter ever, since the title wasn't the most inspiring this time round (and by that, I mean that my creativity gave a derisive snort before running off to join to the circus.) In case you're as horticulturally challenged as I am, heather is a small purple flowering plant and linden is a lime tree (according to Wikipedia anyway.) Anyway, this story is rated T and hopefully you'll enjoy it._

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**Heather and linden are the fruit of your womb...**

_Come on, Bones... Sometime today would be great..._

Yawning with boredom, Seeley Booth tapped his fingers listlessly on the steering wheel of his parked car. Every few seconds, he glanced over towards the large glass doors of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab, hoping that his partner would hurry up so that they could get to the scene.

_How can it take her so long? _he wondered in annoyance. _All she needs to do is grab her kit and vamoose. _Checking his watch and seeing that it was nearly ten minutes later than their agreed meeting time, he debated whether to go in and drag her out by whatever means necessary. However, this option was soon discarded, partly because he was well aware that he may lose the ability to walk, speak or have children if he tried to drag Brennan anywhere, and partly because the hovering parking attendants would swoop, vulture-like, on his unprotected vehicle the second he stepped inside, issuing him with enough fines to ensure that Parker's college fund would remain empty for many years.

Irritated, Booth leaned back in his seat, unconsciously letting his eyes roll towards the door again. It took him a moment to realise that she'd actually emerged, but when he did, he sat upright in his seat again, smiling like a kid at Christmas. Thankful for his tinted windows, he watched in contentment as his improved version of Santa made her way down the steps to his waiting SUV.

The cold autumn wind whistled round her body and he saw her pull her jacket tighter around herself, smiling as it emphasised her slim waist. She'd folded her arms under her breasts for warmth, creating a little more cleavage which Booth was entirely appreciative of. Her footsteps seemed to match the rhythm of the slow song playing on the radio, and Booth's mind was robbed of coherent thought while he watched her hips sway slightly as she walked. Her kit was slung over her shoulder and bounced lightly against her ass as she moved, causing him to involuntarily swallow hard at the scene before him.

_You're jealous of a forensics kit_, his mind pointed out incredulously_. New low, Seel, even for you_. Telling his mind to be quiet, Booth returned his attention to Brennan as she got nearer, a smile still on his lips.

The smile abruptly vanished when his attention was drawn back to the glass doors, and he saw Zach Addy following his fellow anthropologist towards Booth's car. The young man's face was red from the coolness of the breeze and he hurried clumsily down the stairs, his kit banging hard against his leg and nearly causing him to lose his balance.

_Ha! You ogle Bones, you get Zach as punishment, _said his conscience with malicious glee. _I think there's a lesson to be learned here._

Booth's mild dejection at this thought soon morphed into full-blown panic when he saw the doors open again, and Jack Hodgins and Angela Montenegro also made a beeline for his car, their arms comfortably around each other's waists. Filled with irrational fear at the apparent squint invasion, Booth did the first thing he could think of. He locked the car.

"Booth?" Closing his eyes, he stayed quiet as Brennan tugged on the door handle of the passenger side door, calling again, "Booth, open the door."

Well versed in the children's philosophy of "If I ignore it, maybe it'll go away," Booth remained silent for a moment longer, before his partner's annoyed demand reminded him exactly why that particular way of thinking was abandoned after age eight, "Booth, I'll have to break the window if the door won't open."

Not wishing to see her Incredible Hulk impression, he reluctantly clicked the doors open, instantly regretting it when the rest of the team piled happily into the back of the SUV, with Zach being wedged between Hodgins and Angela like a squint sandwich.

Brennan sat in her usual seat at Booth's side, pulling on her seatbelt as she asked innocently, "Why were the doors locked?"

"I pressed the button by accident," he replied dismissively, before moving onto a more pressing matter. "Why are they here?"

"The structure ate our cars," Angela answered simply.

Expecting and not receiving an elaboration, he repeated, bewildered, "It _ate_ your cars?"

"Not ate in the digestive sense," Zach helpfully corrected. "The structure's merely temporarily contained our vehicles against our wishes due to a technical fault in the mechanism of the exit process."

"It _kidnapped_ your cars?" Booth questioned, picturing the large concrete parking structure as a cigar-smoking mafia boss holding cars to ransom.

"The barriers have broken and we can't get our cars out," Hodgins simplified with a grin, picking up on the agent's obvious discomfort at their presence. "We need to get to the crime scene, and you're the only one with a car."

_A little bit of appreciative looking does not merit this kind of punishment, _Booth mentally told his conscience, karma, God, or whoever inflicted this upon him. Looking over at Brennan, he asked hopefully, "Do you really need all of them at the scene?"

"Yes," she said bluntly, checking her watch. "We should really hurry; I told them we'd be there at 9.30."

Booth checked his own watch. "Bones, it's 9.15 and this is at least a forty minute drive."

She shrugged, unphased, "I told you to hurry."

Sighing, he started the car and pulled out onto the street as Zach suggested, "Maybe we should use the siren."

"What? No! What is it with you squints and sirens?"

"It's a good idea, Booth," Temperance added calmly. "We'd get there faster."

"Bones, I am not using the siren. This is not an emergency; the body will still be there in forty minutes." _Plus I don't really want all you people criticising my at-speed driving._

"Fine," she replied, holding her hands up in defense. "You're very grumpy in the mornings." She turned to him as an idea occurred, "Do you have enough to eat for breakfast? Because a lack of nutrients can be very detrimental to mood levels, enthusiasm, physical activities, libido..."

He looked over at her in disbelief. "My libido is just fine, thank you." _I was getting turned on by you walking down some steps for God's sake._

She frowned at him. "I don't understand why that would be a sensitive topic. Most men find penis size much more awkward to discuss, but you were happy to talk about that last week."

"Bones, I-"

"Penis size?" Angela inquired, now suddenly interested in the conversation. Addressing Brennan, she asked, "Any _big_ revelations?"

Zach's eyes widened and he said nervously, "I don't think I'm comfortable listening to this discussion."

"Then shut your ears," Angela replied with a smile, still keen to hear what her friend had to say.

"No, I'm with the kid on this one," Booth interrupted, eager to steer the conversation in another direction. Preferably one involving total silence. "How about we just sit back and listen to some music, hmm?"

"Or we could play a game?" the artist suggested, a mischievous smile on her lips.

"Or not," Booth countered firmly.

"Well, what game would we play?" Brennan inquired, ignoring her partner's rejection of the idea. "The only one I know is "I Spy", but I never found that to be especially stimulating."

"The Alphabet game?" Zach proposed uncertainly. "We could name bones in the body, or the genus of various plants?"

"Truth or dare," Angela stated with a grin. "So much more fun in enclosed spaces."

Booth shook his head. "Not when you're moving at speed."

Foiled, the artist pondered further, until Hodgins spoke up, a note of inspiration in his voice. "Word association." Not being immediately rejected, he explained further, "One person says a word, and then the next has to say the first word that comes to mind." He raised his eyebrows. "It's a fun game..."

"Are there any other rules?" Temperance asked, clearly open to the basic principle of the game.

Hodgins shook his head. "That's about it. We can add in rules as we go along if we want."

Satisfied, she nodded, "Sounds alright to me. Booth?"

Deciding that the occasional word from each of the squints would keep talking to a minimum, the agent nodded reluctantly, "Fine, whatever."

Angela sat forward in her seat, eyes twinkling in anticipation. "I'll go first." She thought for a moment before saying, "Rose."

All eyes swiveled to Zach, who said in textbook fashion, "A traditional symbol of love, exchanged between men and women as a gesture of romantic intent."

"_Word_ association, Zach," Hodgins said emphatically. "You're only supposed to say one thing."

The young doctor thought for a moment, before venturing, "Flower?"

"Lonicera hispidula," the entomologist said in turn.

"New rule, no long Latin names, alright?" Booth interrupted, worried that he wouldn't even understand what word he was meant to be associating with if the squints had their way. "Let's stick to English."

"Honeysuckle," Jack stated, his tone slightly patronising.

"Heather," Brennan continued with a smile.

"Locklear." Seeing his partner's raised eyebrows, Booth said defensively, "Hey, you said the first thing that comes to mind. You say Heather, I think Locklear."

"You can't have people's names," Angela instructed.

"Fine, fine," Booth agreed with a slight sulk. "Umm... purple."

Smiling, the artist said, "Lingerie."

"How did you get "lingerie" from "purple"?" Booth queried.

"Because I'm wearing purple lingerie today," she answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Zach, your turn."

Struggling to form words after receiving a mental picture of Angela in purple lingerie, he stammered, "Intercourse."

There was a groan from the driver's seat which was only made louder when Hodgins said what sprung to mind on hearing Zach's answer, "Angela."

More phased by the apparent breach of rules than the mention of sex, Brennan queried, "I thought you couldn't have people's names?"

"You can name people who are here," Angela clarified, evidently making up the rules as she went along. "So go on, what do you think of the second you hear my name?"

"Head," Temperance replied, and Booth suddenly found it difficult to keep the car on the road.

Mildly offended, but mostly confused, she asked, "Why do you think of "head" when you think of me?"

"Because you create images of heads on the Angelator," Brennan said confidently. Seeing her friend's shrug of acceptance, she turned to Booth, "What do you think of when you heard the word "head"?"

_Don't say it. Do not say that. She will think you're a pervert. Hell, you probably are a pervert, but let's keep it hidden a while longer, shall we? Think of something wholesome and above the belt. _"Shoulders."

"Knees," Angela said smoothly.

Zach wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Metatarsals?"

"No squint words," Booth reminded him from the front. "Let's pretend English is actually your mother tongue."

The young man opened his mouth to argue, but, remembering the agent's gun, decided against it, saying simply, "Toes."

"Feet," Hodgins chipped in and Brennan responded without thinking.

"X-rays."

There was a tense pause in the car as Booth looked over at his partner, stunned. Her eyes widened in apology, but before she could say anything, Hodgins prompted, unaware of the feelings Brennan had reawakened, "Come on, man. What are you thinking of?"

_Broken, fractured, pipes, torture, death, blood, pain, _he thought bitterly, unable to recall anything but horrific memories. Glancing at Brennan, he said quietly, "Hospital."

"Maternity," Angela contributed, unsure of why the partners in the front were so uncomfortable, but deciding to lighten the mood anyway.

"Babies," said Zach, smiling in relief when no-one questioned him.

"Aliens."

"Aliens?" Booth asked incredulously.

Hodgins smiled. "Babies look like aliens."

"Babies do not look like aliens!" his girlfriend protested. "They're cute..."

The entomologist winked. "So was E.T."

Brennan cut in, wanting to stop the baby/alien debate before it got any further. "Irrationality."

Thinking for a second, Booth said with a grin, "Peanut butter." His partner began to query his answer, but stopped as she realised the irony involved.

"Jelly," Angela continued, suddenly feeling hungry.

Zach shared that thought. "Raspberry."

"Strawberry," Hodgins corrected, thinking of his favorite flavor.

"Whipped cream," Brennan said, moving from sandwich fillings to desserts with ease.

_Remember that pervert discussion we had a while back? _Booth's mind inquired as he struggled to think of an appropriate word to follow. _Well, it still applies. You cannot share that whipped cream fantasy with Brennan until you're actually dating, and even then it may not be advisable. Think of something non-sexual. Like cherries, or sprinkles, or ice cream... _

"Hey, that's more than one word," he challenged. "I thought we could only say one thing."

_Or just argue with her. That'll work._

"You said peanut butter," she countered with determination.

"Yeah, but there could be a hyphen in there," he said, knowing that his argument wasn't particularly well thought through. "You could just say cream instead, or..."

"Whipped," Temperance stated purposefully, smiling as she waited for his thoughts on that word.

_Smooth, Seel. So very, very smooth. I gave you plenty of things you could've said for whipped cream, but you had to go and argue with the genius doctor, didn't you? Well, I'm not helping you anymore. You got yourself into this mess. So, go ahead; tell her exactly what you think of when you hear her say "whipped" and watch her push you out of a moving vehicle. Chump._

Completely unable to think of a suitable response, and not wishing to find himself rolling along the road behind the car, Booth opted for the old-fashioned avoidance technique. "You know what, I can't think of anything." With feigned cheerfulness, he reached for the radio, "Maybe we should just listen to some music instead."

The outraged and amused protests of the squints were drowned out by the static as Booth flicked the radio on, searching through for a station.

Angela's voice could eventually be heard above the crackle, "Come on, Booth!"

Deciding that backing out would still be infinitely less embarrassing than trying to concoct any response to Brennan's prompt, he shook his head firmly, "Sorry, my car, my rules. Plus, I think I've learned enough about what goes on in your heads to last me a lifetime."

The complaints died down and Booth breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he'd managed to avoid giving an answer. Settling back in his seat, he found a station, and turned the volume up to rule out the possibility of any further conversation with the surrounding squints.

However, it soon became clear that conversation wasn't needed, since Booth felt his cheeks flush as the song blaring from the speakers seemed to helpfully announce his thoughts to the entire car,

_"I just wanna make love to you..."_

* * *

_The song in the last line was "I Just Wanna Make Love to You" by Etta James (from the Diet Coke commercial a while back.)_

_**All reviews, thoughts and comments will be gratefully received.**_

_Next chapter is the last of the nature themed ones (thank God!) and it will involve honey in some way. I could happily write either a straight-up smut story or a semi-smut/humor one, so if you have a preference as to which you'd rather read, let me know. I'm not promising anything, but if I have some idea of what people think, it might help me decide. _

_Thanks for reading (and extra thanks to those who've reviewed.)_


	9. Honey and Sap

_A/N: I've figured that I've now got myself into a writing comfort zone, consisting of dumb humor, innuendo, and dirty thoughts aplenty. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but the same thing could get boring after a while (for readers and writer.) So the next couple of stories will be me stepping outside the aforementioned happy zone (and possibly retreating back inside if I get homesick.) Please give them a shot, and let me know your thoughts - this is like a big experiment for me._

_(Official voice) **This story is rated M. Would all underagers/non-smut fans please come back next chapter **for some old-fashioned B&B hurt/comfort. Again, I'm new at this smut-writing business so this isn't the most explicit of stories. Thank you to Bellabun for reading through it for me - I'm a total chicken when it comes to posting this stuff._

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**There's honey and sap in the couch of your lap, lady day...**

They knew it was wrong.

They were fully aware that it was frowned upon, inappropriate, and possibly even immoral, but they couldn't stop. It was like a craving which, once given into, could never be sated.

Sitting comfortably on the soft mattress of the hotel bed, Brennan murmured in absent-minded pleasure as she sucked hard, letting her tongue swirl around the tip while she moved her mouth slowly back along, her lips still firmly pressed around the sides. She smiled to herself as the warmth hit the back of her throat, trickling down inside her and leaving the unmistakeable flavor lingering on her tastebuds.

Finished, she let herself drop down onto her elbows as she looked up at her partner, licking any remnants from her lips. Booth's mouth curved up in a half-smile, and he raised his eyebrows, asking teasingly, "Good?"

"As always," she replied with a contented sigh before glancing back to the case files lying on the table and at the foot of the bed. "You know, we really shouldn't be doing this. It just seems wrong, with the case and everything."

Booth's smile faded slightly as he considered this. "I don't know. I mean, if we did it back in DC it would be fine."

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Brennan replied, with a knowing smile, "Yeah, but we never wanted to in DC. It's only because we're here that we even thought to."

He shrugged. "It's not like we're hurting anyone."

"Yeah, but what if someone saw us now?" she asked, not entirely concerned about the prospect.

Booth grinned. "It's 9pm. We're in your hotel room in the middle of Pennsylvania. I don't think anyone's going to be watching what we're doing."

"Still..."

"'Still' what, Bones?" he pressed, leaning back with a sigh. "All we're doing is eating some honey, and last time I checked, that wasn't a crime." Reaching for the small glass jug of honey, he added, "Of course if it is, Winnie the Pooh's probably got a life sentence by now."

Temperance watched as he dipped a finger in the thick amber liquid before bringing it to his mouth, just as she had done a moment earlier. Turning her attention back to the papers lying on the bed in front of her, she shook her head, "It just doesn't seem right. This man, whoever he was, was killed by bears because of the honey he was carrying in his backpack. Honey is the reason he died, and now we're eating it while trying to solve his case."

Booth sat forward in his chair across the spacious bedroom, meeting her eyes. "Honey is not the COD, Bones. That would be the large hungry bears that attacked him. And there is nothing wrong with having a snack while waiting for that ID from Angela. So just relax, okay? Lie back on that huge bed of yours and enjoy some more honey-goodness."

Smirking, she followed his suggestion, inquiring mockingly, "I'm guessing your bed's a little smaller than this?"

"A little, yeah," he answered, sarcastically. "Why do you think we're looking through the evidence in your incredibly spacious hotel room rather than in my box-with-a-bed?" Propping his feet on her coffee table, he hinted, "You know, you could always put me on your one of a kind anthropologist tab. Book an extra hotel room, tell the accounts department that you need me there..."

"Why would I possibly need you there at night, Booth?"

"I'm sure you could think of some reason," he shot back with a wicked smile. Seeing her roll her eyes, he added, "Hey, you can't say you wouldn't love having me at your beck and call."

Ignoring the deeply appealing images that sprang to mind, she replied smugly, "If I need you, I'll just call you at your hotel like I do now. I am not misusing my privileges to get you a better room."

"Fine," Booth said, sulking slightly as he sank back into his chair, the case file on his knees and the half-eaten honey by his side. Uncomfortable with her current sprawled position, Brennan sat upright again, leaning back against the headboard and dipping her index finger into the gooey liquid while she focused her attention on the pictures of the remains.

Silence prevailed for a few minutes, as they both studied the information in front of them while a cool summer breeze blew in through the open window, alleviating some of the humidity in the hotel room. Struggling to concentrate on the information in front of her, Temperance was relieved when Booth's question cut through the restless silence, "What time did Angela say she would call?"

Swallowing the honey she'd just retrieved with her finger, she answered, "She said the computer should find a match some time before 9.30."

Looking over at her, Booth said with a chuckle, "Bones, you've got a little..." He gestured to his mouth, trying to indicate where the stray honey was, and laughed again when she licked the wrong side. "Other side."

Brennan wasn't entirely sure what made her do it. It could've been the balmy night which caused her to feel light-headed, or it could've been the fact that she and Booth were alone in a hotel room together, but something made her meet his eyes and purposefully run her tongue just above the drop of honey that she could feel at the side of her mouth.

She heard the chuckle slip away from his lips until their soft breathing was the only sound in the room. Her eyes never left his, her gaze challenging yet open. He could easily laugh again, tease her for being a messy eater, and return to the normal conversation, but he didn't.

A strange combination of relief and anticipation welled up inside her as Booth got to his feet and walked casually over to the bed. The challenge remained in her eyes as he cupped her face with his left hand, gently tilting her head up to him and using his thumb to brush the corner of her mouth, removing the honey. Looking up at him, she recognised the same daring in his eyes as he held his thumb in place, leaving the choice up to her.

Again, it would have been easy for her to do nothing, to smile and sit back against the headboard as he returned to his seat, but she was not about to pass up the opportunity. It took little thought or analysis for her to open her mouth and suck lightly on his thumb to remove the honey he offered her. Their eyes stayed together as she did so, and she was faintly gratified to see that the intensity of the moment was not lost on her partner.

As she released his thumb from between her lips, she dipped her own finger into the glass jug resting at her side. Not saying a word, she raised her hand, holding it in the air as a sticky drop fell onto her collarbone. Booth moved closer, taking her finger between his own lips, and she felt her heart start to beat faster as his tongue slid playfully against her, removing the honey as she had done seconds before.

Trying to calm her breathing, she felt his grip loosen on her finger and dropped her hand back to the bed, wondering how the situation would progress. It was not too late for either of them to make a joke, break the tension and consign the experience to carefree tomfoolery, but from the look in his eyes, she could tell Booth wasn't about to back off. Unwilling to let this go either, Temperance tilted her head to the side.

It was the slightest of movements, but it was enough of an invitation for Booth, who pressed his lips to her neck, tasting the sweetness there as his tongue brushed softly against her pale skin. His hands went to her sides as he bent over, holding her to him, and she could feel the heat of his skin through her thin camisole. Encouraged by the new and reassuring warmth, she moved her head down, cutting off his access to her neck and meeting his eyes, both of them breathing heavily.

Through all the years they had worked together, neither one of them had ever been bold enough to make the first move, knowing that it would reveal an intent and vulnerability that they couldn't bring themselves to show. However, by small extensions of their already intimate gestures, they had got this far, and the step that had been eluding them for so long no longer required a "move" so much as an agreement. Neither knew who instituted it, but the resolution seemed to pass behind their eyes at the same time, and the distance between them was instantly closed as their lips met.

The initial touch was gentle, their bodies still apart as Booth leaned over the bed, but it became deeper as Temperance parted her lips to allow his tongue access. She explored his mouth while her hands roamed over his body, learning again every contour which she had already memorised by sight. His hand entangled itself in her hair as he moved her back onto the bed, and she could taste the intoxicating combination of the honey and Booth himself as their tongues continued to caress each other. Lying on her back, she felt his other hand move slowly down to her ass, and she copied his movement, squeezing the firm muscle and enjoying his surprised reaction.

Knowing he'd been urged on by her actions, she smiled as she felt his hand slide up her top, his thumb tracing the underside of her breast while his mouth moved to her neck. Her pulse was racing and she wondered briefly if he could feel it pounding under his lips as he worked downward, planting kisses along her exposed collarbone. Wanting his mouth on hers again, Temperance tugged on his hair, smiling as he obeyed and returned, capturing her lips with equal energy. His hand moved further under her loose top, cupping her breast through her bra and flicking his finger across her hardened nipple, eliciting a moan as she felt a familiar jolt of arousal between her thighs.

Determined not to let him have his own way, she summoned up what strength she could in her relaxed limbs and rolled him over, straddling his hips as he looked up at her in a mixture of surprise and contentment. Leaning over to kiss him again, her fingers began to push his t-shirt up before running greedily over his exposed abdomen, alternating between circling his muscles with her nails and pressing them softly with the pads of her fingers.

Sitting up, her eyes twinkled as Booth followed her movement, allowing her to pull the tee over his head. He repeated the treatment, pulling her pale camisole off and throwing it to the floor as she pushed him back down, running kisses down his neck and feeling the low rumble in his chest as he groaned in pleasure at her ass rubbing against his erection. Prompted by his groan, she moved down, nimbly unfastening his jeans and tugging them off his legs before quickly discarding her own sweatpants and returning to her position astride his crotch.

He tried to sit, pulling her into another kiss as his hands easily undid the clasp of her bra and removed it, but she eased him back down to the soft mattress, taking a moment to enjoy the sight in front of her while she reached across to the cabinet by the bed. Temperance felt another twinge on hearing Booth groan on realising her intention, and debated skipping the foreplay for the main event, knowing that they were both aroused enough as it was.

Her inbuilt love of procedure won out, and she sat back, smiling as his hips thrust towards her, vainly searching for the pressure they both craved. Holding the delicate jug of honey, she slowly drizzled a line down the center of his chest and noted with satisfaction that his breathing became shallower at the sensation. Wordlessly, she set the jug aside and deliberately licked the honey from just above the line of his boxers, impressed at how he somehow became even harder as a result.

She continued upwards, feeling herself becoming wetter at every whimper and moan that escaped his lips in response to her ministrations. Her tongue swirled across his tanned skin, tasting the sweet sugar of the honey and the indefinable flavor that belonged to Booth. Occasionally she let her teeth graze his chest, and felt him buck his hips towards her as she held his upper arms down, ridiculously turned on by the feel of his biceps flexing against her. His fingers ran down her ribcage, his touch tantalisingly light against her bare skin, and she ground her hips against him, almost gasping at the feel of him against her sensitive clit, even through their underwear.

Reaching his nipple, Temperance bit down gently on the brown nub and was rewarded by an involuntary growl from Booth. Glancing up at him, she moved to his other nipple, her lips never leaving his chest, and carefully did the same, this time receiving a groan of simultaneous appreciation and frustration. Another rush of electricity went through her as he suddenly sat up, pulling her against him with one hand, while the other slipped down the back of her panties to squeeze her ass firmly. His lips went to her previously neglected breasts, kissing and sucking around her nipples as he licked off any honey that had been transferred from his chest.

Gasping, she arched herself towards him, fingers digging into his hair as an implicit demand. She felt him exhale against her skin as he smiled, his warm breath making her shiver, before complying with her request and focusing his attention on her tight nipples. She couldn't prevent the tiny noises, evidence of her arousal, from escaping her throat as he took one in his mouth, sucking it as he had done her finger, while he took the other between his fingers, rolling and teasing as she rubbed herself more desperately against his cock.

He pulled back briefly, and her hands immediately moved down to the waistband of his boxers, knowing what he was going to say and being just as ready for it as he was. However, she was taken by surprise when he put his hand on her thigh, his eyes still dark with desire, and said casually, "You going to get that, Bones?"

Frowning in confusion, she asked, puzzled and slightly irritated, "What are you talking about?"

"Angela wants to talk to you," he explained, as though nothing was wrong. "You need to take the call." She stared at him in bewilderment but said nothing, causing him to shake her firmly. "Bones? Bones?"

Brennan's eyes opened upon hearing her nickname and then widened when she saw Booth standing over her, fully clothed and with his hand on her thigh as he shook her awake. Taken aback by her sudden return to reality, she jumped away from him as if burned, scattering her papers all over the floor of the hotel room. Still stunned, she stammered nervously, "Booth, what... why..."

Smirking at her panicked leap out of bed, he waved the phone at her. "Angela's on the line. Says she's got an ID and would very much like to speak to you and go home now." Without waiting for a response, he threw the phone lightly across the bed and began to gather up his files while Brennan hurriedly straightened her clothes, her cheeks flushed red at the awkwardness of the situation.

Holding the phone to her ear, she said a perfunctory hello to Angela as she watched her partner collect his paperwork and head for the door. The artist's voice tumbled down the line as she regaled her friend with the day's events at the Jeffersonian, but Temperance's attention was on Booth as he opened the door, still reeling from the vividness of her dream and the shock awakening.

Her heart was still pounding as he gave a goodnight wave, and it skipped a beat as he called back with a knowing grin, "Sweet dreams, Bones."

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_I thought I'd make Brennan the one with the wandering mind for a change... :)_

_Reviews (with or without constructive criticism) would make me very happy. Next chapter'll be back to a T rating._


	10. Nothing You'd Not Provide

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and a big smiley wave to all those who have this fic (or me) on alerts. I'm now feeling slightly anxious about keeping all you people happy, so if anyone has any preferences for the content of future chapters (genre, setting, etc) feel free to let me know, and I'll see what I can do :)_

_This one's rated T and actually required research. (And by research, I mean looking up stuff on sites other than Wikipedia.) The American Journal of Emergency Medicine is like the world's best cure for insomnia. Seriously. :) _

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**There's nothing you would not provide...**

"FBI; stop or I will shoot!"

Booth's voice was drowned out by the pounding rain and violent wind, but even if the suspect heard, he wasn't about to comply with the request. Sighing in annoyance, Booth lowered his gun and continued to run forward through the dense woods, the thin beam from his Maglite being the only indication he had of where he was going.

Rain cascaded down from the sky, bouncing off the surrounding tree branches and making the muddy ground, which was already covered with autumn leaves, all the more slippery. The wind shook the leaves that still remained on the trees, causing any water that had gathered there to plummet heavily to earth. Running after his suspect, and away from the light of the mountain cabin, Booth felt his feet slide on the treacherous ground, but stumbled on, cursing as his toes came in contact with rocks and fallen branches along the way.

The lightning split the sky above him, spreading out through the storm clouds like jagged fingers, and he caught sight of the fleeing man a fair distance in front of him, gaining ground as he ran through the familiar forest. The thunder rumbled, echoing off the steep hills surrounding the valley and giving a clear indication that the chase was happening at the center of the storm.

Pressing on, Booth took a second to glance behind him and saw that his partner was still there, soaked and tiring, but following him nonetheless. He continued to make his way forward, feeling the branches whip against his arms and legs as he ran, and he wished briefly that Brennan had just stayed at the cabin, rather than deciding to pursue the suspect with him into the darkness of the woods and thus give him two things to worry about rather than one.

Raising his flashlight again, he scanned the area ahead of him and was filled with frustration when the bright light illuminated nothing but rain and trees. Breathing heavily, he ignored the pain in his scratched limbs and began to run again until he heard a sudden scream pierce through the noise of the storm.

He froze, his mind leaping to the worst case scenario. Turning round, he shone the light back the way he'd come, calling in fear, "Bones? Bones, where are you?" The only sight or sound was the raindrops bouncing off the uneven ground, and he yelled again, panic rising, "Temperance! Can you hear me?"

"Booth!"

Her voice was terse, and quieter than his had been, but he felt his heart leap at her reply, knowing that she was close. All thoughts of the chase forgotten, he moved carefully back to where her voice had come from, shouting again, "Bones, where are you?"

"I fell," she replied, sounding slightly stunned. "It was a ledge, and my foot slipped."

Hearing her speak, Booth followed the sound, shining his flashlight down to the ground in search of a ledge she might have fallen from. The bluish light danced across the sodden leaves and dirt before vanishing unexpectedly into the darkness, and he edged closer to the newly-discovered drop, holding onto the trees so as not to fall himself. Reaching the edge, he shone the light down and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Brennan looking up at him, eyes shielded against the rain and the sudden brightness.

Scanning the area around them, Booth saw how easy it was for her to fall. The hill they were running along dropped steeply away, creating an almost step-like effect of ledges and drops which would easily have been avoided in the daylight. Brennan currently sat about six feet below him and he saw that her face looked even paler than usual as a result of the unexpected fall.

Crouching, he asked with concern, "You okay, Bones?"

Brennan looked up at him, the rain streaking her face like tears, and gave him a miniscule nod as she stammered, "I- I'm fine. I just..." She whispered, almost as a cry for help, "My foot."

Feeling the panic begin to rise again, Booth directed the light to her foot, but saw nothing other than her shaking hand holding her boot tightly. Keeping his voice calm, he asked gently, "Does it hurt?"

She bit her lip and nodded, unable to speak. Still regaining his breath after the chase, Booth knelt on the muddy ground, saying firmly, "Okay, Bones, I need you to stand up for me. We need to get you to a hospital and it'll take too long for me to find a way down in the dark. Can you stand?"

She nodded again, and reached for the tree behind her, pulling on the branches to drag herself to a standing position without putting any weight on her injured foot. Booth smiled in encouragement and prompted, "I need you to walk towards the drop so I can pull you up."

Remaining silent, she moved gingerly to where he indicated, but was unable to stop a wince escaping her lips as she stepped on her right foot. Knowing that something was seriously wrong, Booth bent forward, reaching over the edge and gesturing for her to raise her arms. She did, balancing shakily on one leg, and he grasped her upper arms firmly, before meeting her gaze again. "Ready?"

"Yes," she whispered, and with no further hesitation, Booth pulled hard, dragging her over the ledge before dropping to the ground beside her, both of them muddied and soaked.

The agent sat up first, turning his attention to his injured partner as he helped her to a sitting position also and asked in confirmation, "We're going to get out of here, okay?"

"Booth, I'm sorry," she said, her tone quiet and guilty. "We lost Matthews."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He'll show up sooner or later."

"But I-"

"Bones," he interrupted her firmly. "It doesn't matter. We can concentrate on him tomorrow, but right now we need to get you to a hospital." Moving down to her feet, he asked, uncertainly, "Do you know what happened?"

Resisting the instinct to pull away, she let him lift her leg and spoke in the strongest voice she could muster, "I can't be sure without an examination, but it hurts to put weight on it."

After their years of working together, Booth knew that if she was admitting that it hurt, it must _really_ hurt. Doing his best to stay positive, and not think about how he was going to get his invalid partner back to the SUV in an area with no cell reception, he bent her leg, moving closer to her as he explained, "I'm going to take your boot off and I need you to tell me what I'm looking for. The sooner we work out what's wrong, the sooner we can get you better, alright?"

He saw her swallow hard in the dim light, but she nodded and reluctantly let him gain access to her sturdy shoe. After undoing the lace, he carefully slid the boot off her foot, feeling a twinge in his chest as she whimpered in pain. He paused upon seeing her sock, knowing that it would hurt to remove it.

"Bones, I'm going to take your sock off now. It's going to hurt, but it's easier if I do it quickly, like a bandaid." He smiled at her through the rain. "But while I do it, you get to squeeze my arm as hard as you can. That a deal?"

Despite the pain she was in, Temperance smiled back, saying tiredly, "You don't need to patronise me, Booth."

The agent grinned. "Hey, I'm just trying to be fair here. I hurt you, you hurt me."

He was relieved when she made no further protest, leaning closer to him and holding on tightly to his upper arm in preparation. Sliding his fingers under the top of her sock, Booth took a deep breath and tugged it quickly off her foot, being careful not to jarr it too much. Brennan bit back a sob as he did so, her fingers digging tightly into his arm and her head resting against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

Shining the light on her foot, Booth's eyes widened at the sight. Not wanting to alarm her, he began to describe what he saw in the most clinical terms he could manage. "Okay, your heel and ankle are swollen; I don't think we'll be able to get your boot back on. I think your heel's starting to bruise, but I can't tell in this light. Umm..." He peered closer, finding himself squinting against the rain. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking for here, Bones."

"Touch it," she instructed, not happy at the thought. Booth gently brushed her bruised heel with his thumb, and she couldn't stop herself from gripping his arm again as she winced.

"I'm sorry," he apologised quickly, unsure of what to say.

Regaining her composure, she spoke again, still in pain, "Is there any deformity in the shape of the heel? Does it look different to you?"

"Maybe," he ventured without confidence. "It looks kind of squished. Like fatter and squarer."

Apparently this was the right thing to say as Brennan nodded. "Calcaneal fracture. Common in falls when the calcaneus is compressed, causing it to break. Often accompanied by extensive soft tissue damage, including ecchymosis, and other injuries, especially to the legs and base of the spine."

Skipping over the longer words, Booth asked worriedly, "Are you hurt anywhere else? Your legs or your spine?"

"I'd need a CT scan and X-rays to make sure," she said, and Booth's heart forgot to beat until she continued, "But there's no pain there so I should be alright."

Relieved, he turned back to face her as he asked, "What do I do now? Should I splint it, wrap it, keep it dry, what?"

She thought for a moment, trying to recall what medical knowledge she had, while Booth sat anxiously by her, feeling the raindrops trickle down the neck of his jacket. Eventually she reached a conclusion. "The rainwater shouldn't do too much damage, as ice would need to be applied anyway. The best thing would be to splint it and use a bulky compressive dressing to prevent blistering."

Fully aware of their lack of first aid kit, Booth looked round quickly for anything he could improvise with. Inspiration suddenly struck and he tugged his backup pistol out of his ankle holster, smiling in amusement as his partner raised her eyebrows, "Booth, I know that people shoot horses when they go lame, but..."

"I'm not going to shoot you, Bones," he replied, before adding teasingly, "Well, not today anyway." A familiar look of indignation passed across her face and his smile only widened, glad that he was able to keep her mind off the pain.

Emptying the bullets into his pocket, he dropped the gun on the floor before kneeling up and pulling his jacket off, immediately regretting it when the rain pounded down on his back, soaking his t-shirt. Focusing on the need to help Brennan, he stripped his t-shirt off and dropped it on her outstretched legs while she just gaped at his actions.

"What are you doing?! Put your shirt back on!"

Sliding his arms back into the sleeves of his jacket, he shook his head. "Sorry, Bones, but we're going to need that as a dressing."

Still somewhat transfixed, she watched as he zipped up his waterproof, hiding his glistening upper body from sight once again, and said without conviction, "We could've used my shirt. At least I'm wearing something underneath."

"You're complaining?" he asked with mock-insult. "I give you the shirt off my back and you tell me to cover up? Jeez, Bones, way to hurt a guy."

"I didn't mean..." she stammered awkwardly. "I just- It's cold and you shouldn't be naked when it's cold."

Smirking at her lack-lustre defence, Booth swiftly removed the shoelace from her discarded boot as he answered sarcastically, "Thanks for the update. I'll bear that in mind next time I want to go streaking in winter."

"You've been streaking in winter?" Temperance asked with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

He winked at her. "That's between me and my snowman." Before she could press further, he lifted her foot back onto his lap, saying seriously, "This is going to hurt again, but I'll try to do it quickly." He met her eyes through the rain. "It's better if I don't stop."

Feeling pain shoot up her leg at the movement, Brennan took a deep breath before confirming quietly, "I understand."

Nodding grimly, he turned his attention back to her foot as she lay back on the forest floor, hands clasped together nervously. Booth gripped the torch between his teeth, and picked up his t-shirt in his hands, glancing over at Brennan one final time before beginning.

Her muffled scream ripped through the woods as he pulled the torn shirt round her foot once before holding the gun against it as a splint. Ensuring her foot was immobilised at the correct angle, he wrapped the material around as many times as he could to hold it in place and keep the pressure on the injury. Brennan clamped one hand over her mouth to try to silence the sobs that racked her body while the other gripped her hair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

When Booth began to tie the shoelace tightly around the makeshift dressing, she couldn't stop herself from lashing out with her other foot, catching him in the ribs and causing him to drop the flashlight as he winced. Determined to finish, he knelt on her other foot to prevent any further injury to himself while blindly cinching the knots around the bandage to hold it in place.

Finished, he lowered her leg back to the ground and pulled her into his arms, holding her close and speaking soothingly, "Shh, it's over. It's done, it's finished." He felt guilt wash over him as she cried into his chest, and he whispered sincerely, "I'm sorry, Temperance. I'm so sorry." She said nothing, and he stroked her back gently as he heard her breathing slowly return to normal.

She eventually looked up at him, her eyes red from crying and her face ashen from the pain of the injury, but Booth's guilt ebbed slightly as she whispered shakily, "I'm alright."

Giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he asked with feigned cheerfulness, "Ready to get out of here?"

Offering him a weak smile in return, she nodded bravely, "I can walk."

Booth chuckled to himself. "Bones, you are not walking anywhere."

"But how-"

Before she could finished her question, Booth had hoisted her into his arms and wobbled to a standing position. Panicked at the prospect of them both falling down on the slippery and uneven ground, she tried to swing her legs back down, but he held on tightly. Frustrated, she said in annoyance, "Booth, put me down! You can't even see where you're going..."

He merely smiled before carrying her over to a fallen tree trunk and carefully helping her to stand on the raised log. Grateful for solid ground, she regaining her footing before looking down at him in confusion. Pre-empting her question, he explained, "Get on my back. That way I can carry you and still see where I'm putting my feet."

"Booth, this is ridiculous."

"Oh, so you want to walk the whole way back on your broken foot, do you?" he inquired, a playful challenge in his voice. Taking her silence as a "no", he turned round and smiled to himself as she clambered on his back, clinging on round his neck for dear life while shining the Maglite ahead of them. Feeling her settle herself, he asked again, "Comfy?"

"Very," she replied, her tired voice filled with sarcasm.

Picking up on her tiredness, Booth spoke louder, "Bones, I need you to tell me which way to go to get back." She said nothing and he explained defensively, "Look, I was chasing Matthews and I don't remember exactly which way I came."

There was a brief pause before she said with a hint of derision, "It's a well-known anthropological quirk that men don't ask for directions."

Walking forward, he countered with an attempted shrug, "What can I say, I'm not like most men. Left or right?"

"No, you're not," she murmured under her breath, before looking hard at the trees before them and instructing, "Right."

They made their way slowly through the woods, with Brennan directing from her position on Booth's back while her partner did his best to stay upright and not knock her injured foot against any of the trees. To his credit, he only needed to stop twice to rest his back, and quickly learned that it was to his benefit as well as Brennan's for her foot to avoid collisions, since her arms tightened painfully around his neck when he inadvertently went too close to a protruding branch.

After thirty minutes of walking, it was with immense relief that they arrived back at the cabin where the suspect had fled from. Fumbling clumsily in his pocket for the keys, Booth managed to open the car and carry Brennan round to the passenger side before depositing her carefully in her seat. Turning round to look at her, he saw that her face was still drained of color and that her eyes had immediately started to drift shut upon reaching the warm, dry interior of the SUV.

Shaking her gently, he prompted, "Bones, stay awake for me." Her tired eyes opened again and he smiled hopefully, "Just stay awake till we get to the hospital, okay? You can sleep there as much as you want, but I need to you keep your eyes open till then. I'll even let you put the siren on if you want."

She gave him a weak smile as he lifted her foot onto the dashboard. "You're being patronising again."

Still standing in the rain, he shrugged, "Okay, don't turn the siren on."

Her eyes opened fully. "I said you were patronising, not that I didn't want to put the siren on."

Grinning, Booth shut the door and ran around to the driver's side, climbing gratefully into the warmth of the vehicle. Turning the key in the ignition, he headed out of the driveway onto the road to the nearest town and smiled as Temperance reached up sleepily and clicked the siren on.

The lights flashed in the dark night as they sped down towards the hospital, with Booth's eyes on Brennan more than the road. Taking a short-cut through the back streets of the small town, they arrived at the emergency room in less than twenty minutes, but the anthropologist frowned, perplexed, as they pulled into the parking lot.

"How did you know how to get here? I didn't see any signs pointing this way..."

Booth pulled skilfully into a space as he explained nonchalantly, "We've been in this town for nearly two days; I can find my way around by now." He winked at her as he turned off the engine. "Former Ranger, remember?"

She raised her eyebrows in disdain. "I don't remember your Ranger training being useful in getting us out of the wood. I had to give you directions."

The agent said nothing, instead choosing that moment to jump out of the car and make his way round to her door. Realisation suddenly dawned on Brennan and she slapped him on the arm as he opened the door and started to lift her out of the vehicle.

"You lied to me!" He offered no argument, nudging the door shut with his knee and heading towards the entrance, carrying his outraged partner in his arms. "You knew the way back to the SUV! You just got me to direct you so that I wouldn't fall asleep." She remembered the journey to the hospital and the accusations continued, "That's why you let me put the siren on! There's no-one around at this time of night, but you put the siren on to keep me awake."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips and she glared at him. "You could've just asked me to stay awake instead of treating me like a child, Booth." Filled with righteous indignation, she shook her head and muttered, "Patronising."

Booth remained silent and walked as quickly as he could towards the door, watching as the motion of being in his arms caused her eyes to involuntarily start to close. Exhausted and weak from the constant pain, Temperance leaned into his chest for support and warmth, and he smiled softly as he heard her whisper, her voice tired but sincere, "Thank you..."

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_Hope that was okay. Reviews are much appreciated, either from my regular/occasional reviewers (who are all awesome) or from those of you who've never hit that little button before (because I love hearing from new people. Honestly. I get as excited as a cat with wrapping paper.)_


	11. When All is Despair

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed - I've been like a cat on Christmas morning. __Only, __y'know__, without the scratching and the __furballs_

_This title had some serious angst potential, but I needed a) a break and b) to get these back down to a reasonable length. (The last one was over 3600 words.) So instead I give you this slightly seasonal T-rated offering with the promise of further angst in __chaptory__ (that's chapter/story) 13. __Deal?

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**When all is despair, you are there at my side...**

Temperance Brennan awoke to find she couldn't breathe.

Jerked roughly from her slumber by a sudden panic, her eyes flew open as she felt her lungs burn with the unexpected lack of oxygen.

However, this panic was only momentary and vanished as soon as she opened her mouth, taking in a deep breath gratefully and mentally chastising herself_, You have a blocked nose. Of course you can't breathe when you shut your mouth. __Genius._

Checking the clock on her bedside table and deciding that she was not ready to deal with inner sarcasm at 5.37am, she rolled over, snuggling under the warm duvet and enjoying the feel of the cool side of the pillow against her flushed cheek. Closing her eyes again, she let her body relax and couldn't stop a contented smile from playing on her chapped lips at the prospect of drifting back into a very pleasant dream involving ice cream, a sturdy hammock and a certain FBI agent with a very talented tongue.

Unfortunately, before the tub of Chunky Monkey could be put to proper use, the pounding in her head started up with all the enthusiasm of a child who'd stumbled upon an empty biscuit tin and a spoon, and Brennan groaned in frustration as banana-flavored dream-Booth was chased away by her headache. Miserable, she pulled the covers over her head, hoping that the soft material would stop the dull pain spreading from her temples.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't.

_Did you really think that would work? _her scientific mind mocked. _If duvets could cure the flu, you'd think someone would have noticed by now. There would definitely have been research done if a large feather-filled sack showed any hint of medicinal properties._

Telling her mind to shush for once, Temperance tucked the duvet back down under her arms as she rolled onto her back with a sigh. This movement was the equivalent of putting an over-zealous tap dancer in a spin-dryer and Brennan whimpered to herself as the hammering in her skull intensified, rubbing her temples in a futile attempt to subdue what was becoming the mother of all headaches.

_Advil... You want Advil... Lovely, shiny Advil..._

Deciding that she did indeed want some lovely, shiny Advil, Brennan moved to roll out of bed. Ignoring the indignant screams of protests from her sleepy and aching limbs, she swung her legs out from under the covers and felt her bare feet land hard on the rough carpet by the bed. Barely opening her eyes, she dragged herself to her feet and stumbled out of the bedroom, heading to the kitchen cabinet like an Advil-seeking missile, albeit a slow, wobbly missile.

Weaving her way around the worktop, she felt a jolt pass through her when her previously warm feet encountered the cold tile floor of the kitchen. Goosebumps appeared on her arms and legs as her sluggish senses finally responded to the cool October temperature, and she resisted the urge to propel herself, cannon-like, back into the bedroom.

In the end, she did reach the cabinet and what was, for the moment, her equivalent of the Holy Grail. Still half-asleep, the child-proof lid proved to be difficult, but after a few muttered curse words and the threat of a hammer, the cap eventually yielded to her eager fingers. Holding back a victory dance, partly through shame and partly through desire to return to bed, Brennan palmed three tablets before wandering to the fridge to find some water. Normally she could easily dry-swallow pills, but her throat was currently an uncomfortable cross between sandpaper and sticky tape, and she didn't want to be remembered as the forensic anthropologist who choked to death on Advil. While wearing an oversized tee with a picture of Sue, the T-Rex skeleton, on it. And lime green panties.

Irrationally wondering what color panties she _would_ wish to die in, she pulled open the fridge door and was immediately startled by the brightness of the interior. Grabbing a bottle of water from the shelf, she hurriedly closed the fridge, hissing at its offensive light and coolness, and prompting a derisive snort as her mind finally caught up to her body. _You just hissed at your fridge. __Hissed.__At a fridge.__ How is that remotely logical? It's a fridge. __Fridge_

Temperance gladly ignored logic, for possibly the first time in her life, and swallowed the tablets before trudging back to her bedroom, sniffling pathetically as she went. She was all set to clamber back into her squishy duvet paradise when nature called. Shortly followed by Booth.

Her sore throat managed to produce an irritated and disturbingly primal growl at the situation, and she snatched her ringing cordless phone before heading to the bathroom, deciding she could deal with both calls at once. Squinting at the bright light of the bathroom, she picked up the phone, speaking with a deep and croaky voice, "Brennan."

Booth's chuckle drifted down the phone line and she closed her eyes in embarrassment as he said teasingly, "You sure? Because that sounded a hell of a lot like Barry White."

Recalling what limited knowledge she had of Mr White, Temperance's eyes narrowed in indignation as one particular phrase sprung to mind. "I am not a walrus, Booth," she protested, her pained throat making her sound not entirely dissimilar to said sea-dwelling mammal.

"Walrus of love, Bones," Booth corrected cheerfully, as though that negated the "walrus" aspect of the description.

Her only reply was another growl.

"Good morning to you too," he continued, and she could almost hear his amused grin through the phone line. "Listen, as much as I hate to drag you from your peaceful walrus slumber, we've got a body."

"Can't it wait till morning?" Brennan replied, her voice fluctuating between low and gravelly, and high and squeaky.

"No can do, Bones. The crime scene guys say it's been doused with something..." He checked his notes and quoted skeptically, "'Strong and sizzle-y.' I think the sizzle-y is from the guy who touched the remains and burned off half the skin on his hand. Anyway, whatever it is looks to be eating up the body pretty fast, so we need to get down there asap. Pick you up at 6?"

_Doused.__ Sizzle. __Skin.__Eating.__Asap__. See, I'm following, _she thought with satisfaction, before her mind processed the last of Booth's comments. _6. __Meh_

"Fine," she conceded, sounding a lot more sulky that she would've liked. "I'll see you at 6."

"Great," he shot back, and Temperance was annoyed to hear that he seemed like he meant it. "See you in fifteen."

With that, he hung up, leaving her reeling at the unexpected reality. _Fifteen?__Fifteen?!__ I'm in my pyjamas, I've not showered, washed, dressed or put on makeup, and I look like... _Curious as to what she actually did look like, she stood and moved over in front of the mirror to wash her hands. Her heart sank at the sight. _I look like a clown who lost a fight with a truck. __A truck carrying many, many hedges.__ Which I was then dragged through backwards._

Sniffling again, she decided that damage control was the way to go. Foregoing the shower, she splashed cold water on her face, and barely suppressed a shriek as the cool drops collided with her fevered forehead and warm cheeks.

_Hmm, clothes or makeup?_she pondered briefly. Sadly, as happy as she would've been to meet Booth while wearing only mascara, reality won out and she shuffled back into her bedroom to find something to wear to the scene. Swapping her panties for a pair that didn't look like they belonged to Kermit the Frog, she pulled off her baggy grey shirt and tossed it on her bed, too tired and sick to bother folding it up as usual. She instantly regretted removing the tee as the chilly air in her apartment now viciously attacked her newly-bared back and chest, leaving her shivering as she hurried to put a bra and tank top on.

Yawning, Brennan then rummaged in her drawers for pants that would be suitable to go underneath her blue Jeffersonian protective suit. It was with a combination of satisfaction and disgust that she found her one remaining clean pair of jogging bottoms, since while they weren't dirty, they also wouldn't have looked out of place on any member of the cast of 'Fame!'. The green light by her bed blinked 5.53am pointedly and so Temperance pulled on the bright blue, skintight pants with a shudder, wishing that the racing stripes down the side of each leg weren't such a custard-like yellow.

Decked in her unquestionably '80s attire, she was glad of the less embarrassing overlayer of the steel blue jumpsuit. However, putting on the aforementioned jumpsuit when her head was still throbbing and her sinuses felt like they'd been filled with cotton wool was a task akin to playing jump-rope blindfolded; it was risky, unstable and highly likely to result in her landing face down on the floor. Sitting on the bed, she carefully inserted herself into the welcoming blue material, that seemed remarkably duvet-esque to her bed-craving mind, and wedged her feet into her gumboots before spacewalking to the bathroom to see what, if anything, could be done about her face.

_Lost cause _was the first helpful thought that sprang to mind as she stared at herself in the mirror. She'd pulled her mussed and straggly hair back into a bun, but that, coupled with the pallor of her complexion, gave her the appearance of a mime artist. She sighed as she looked at her reddened nose. _A mime artist impersonating Rudolph._

Since a reindeer is generally not accepted as a style guru, Brennan then set about coating her nose in thick layers of concealer and foundation and was pleased to see that the camouflage was at least partly effective. _No more clown jokes this time, _she thought with satisfaction, recalling the day spent with Booth during her last bout of the flu, during which he'd affectionately nicknamed her 'Krusty.' After hours mulling over the possible significance of bread comparisons, she'd finally Googled the name and was not amused to find that her partner had been calling her the name of a cartoon clown in the presence of numerous cops, lab techs and suspects. Okay, so she didn't actually care what they all thought of her, but it was the principle that was important.

Content that she would be able to avoid derogatory clown comments, Temperance quickly brushed her teeth, again forgetting to open her mouth to breathe and inadvertently swallowing some toothpaste as she then gasped for air. Finally dressed, washed and mostly ready to face the world, she grabbed her kit, sniffling pitifully as she headed out of the apartment at 5.59am precisely, closing the door quietly so as not to wake the fortunate people whose partner didn't drag them out to a dead body before sunrise.

Her misery only seemed to amplify as she trekked slowly down the stairs, feeling as though her temperature went up and down with each step and barely able to hear anything through her blocked ears. Pushing a few stray wisps of hair out of her face, Brennan walked to the door to the complex, her breathing more like that of someone who'd just run a marathon up the side of Everest rather than someone who'd walked down four short flights of stairs.

As she met the bracing October air, she folded her arms across her chest, hearing the rustle of the waterproof material as she hurried over to Booth's waiting SUV, parked, as ever, across the gate to the complex, where there was possibly the most well-signed and clearly marked "No Parking" zone in the history of mankind. Blowing her nose noisily, Brennan opened the trunk, slinging her kit in before slamming it shut with unnecessary force, as though compensating in advance for the teasing she would have to endure from the vehicle's owner.

Preparing herself for the worst, she walked round to the passenger side door and clambered in with a less than cheerful "Good morning."

Booth looked over at her with raised eyebrows and she just glowered back, silently daring him, gun or no gun, to antagonise an emotional, tired and unhappy woman trained in three types of martial art. The effect of her menacing stare was somewhat ruined when Hurricane Bones decided to make a break for freedom, resulting in a loud, embarrassing, and frankly unexpected sneeze shattering the early morning silence in the SUV, and quite possibly the whole of DC.

Sighing in defeat, Brennan dropped her eyes to the dashboard in front of her, waiting, much like the proverbial Damocles, for the sword to fall and the mocking to begin.

However, her gaze fell on the black dash, she saw a large box of unopened tissues sitting in front of her. Scanning the floor next to her feet, she found a warm, and definitely feminine, scarf, while two hot cups of coffee and a full container of Advil sat waiting in the center console. She looked up at her partner in surprise, her first real smile of the day on her lips. Booth glanced back at her as he started the car, but made no move to explain the newly-acquired contents of his car.

Unsure of what to say, Brennan felt herself relax slightly as they pulled out of the gateway, finally venturing, "I thought you'd say something about..."

"The jumbo sneeze?" he supplied with a smile. "Bless you."

Temperance's smile widened and she felt a small pang of guilt of thinking the worst of her partner, when he'd actually been concerned with her well-being.

This guilt rapidly evaporated when Booth finished with a grin, "Sneezy."

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, she pulled a tissue out of the box in front of her and gratefully took a sip of coffee as her ever-thoughtful partner hummed softly under his breath,

"Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go..."

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_Reviews are the food of love. Write on. (Sorry, bad pun.)_

_Sue the T-Rex is real and lives in the __Field Museum of __Natural Histor__y__ in Chicago._

_If you liked this __chaptory__, I'd recommend checking out one of my earlier stories called "Inquisition." It's __a__oneshot__ written in a similar style to this, and it's worth reading purely for the fact that I got the word "lederhosen" into a story... Anyway, there's a link on my profile if you're interested, but otherwise, thanks for reading these. :)_


	12. It is You That is Near

_A/N: I know I say this every time, but thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed. However, I am still mildly terrified that people are getting alerts for whatever pops into my head, so if you'd like some input into the popping process, feel free to let me know of any requests for future chaptories (more smut, more angst, different narrative styles, cliches to tackle, etc.)_

_This one's rated T and is slightly different from normal. **It is not a slash story** though, so please don't be put off by the seemingly suggestive title. (Take it literally.)_

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**It is you that is near...**

For Jack Hodgins, and for squints the world over, fieldwork was like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

This was partly because it was exciting, different and gave you incredible stories to tell your colleagues on your return, but also, like the proverbial pot, it was widely acknowledged to be a myth. For years, Hodgins was firm in his belief that the promise of fieldwork was concocted by duplicitous FBI agents to keep the squints motivated in pursuit of an unattainable dream.

However, this theory had been abruptly quashed at the foundation of the partnership between Dr Temperance Brennan and Agent Seeley Booth. The lab had been abuzz for days at the news that Dr Brennan, Queen of Squintville, was working out in the field with a bonafide, gun-equipped FBI agent, and this revelation had created new hope in all of them of one day achieving the same goal, preferably with a gun and/or an attractive Special Agent of their own.

But over the years, this dream had failed to materialise for Hodgins. True, he'd been out in the field occasionally, but this was mostly to collect bugs, slime or particulates, and very rarely involved catching bad guys. The one time he'd actually witnessed the catching of the bad guy was when Booth had been too injured to put on a bulletproof vest, so had let him come along, thus reducing his part in the proceedings to that of potential human shield.

It was this desire to be more than just an onlooker that made him leap at the chance to accompany Booth on an arrest. Brennan was away on a contract-mandated book tour in Seattle, and the agent had obtained a warrant to search the house of a suspect for the poison used to kill the latest body that had come into the lab. Hodgins had gladly volunteered to come along to identify the poison from the evidence found at the house, fully aware that once he found it, Booth would then arrest the guy and he could return to the lab with enough boasting material to last till he was forty.

At least, that was the plan.

When they'd arrived at the suspect's house, everything had appeared normal and above board. Booth had stayed in the lounge, keeping the man under surveillance, while Hodgins had gone into the kitchen to check the cupboards for the lethal powder. However, there was a lot more in the kitchen than poison, and he'd soon found himself staring down the barrels of the guns of the suspect's three buddies, who had apparently all had a hand in the death of the man who'd intended to turn them over to the police.

This knowledge did little to help Hodgins, as he'd then been dragged back out into the lounge and held at gunpoint until Booth surrendered his weapons. Despite vocal threats from the agent and worried objections from the entomologist, one thing had inevitably led to another, with the result that Hodgins now found himself locked in a basement, with his hands bound to Booth's behind their backs, while the killers made their escape to sunny Mexico.

He looked up as he heard the front door slam shut, followed by the sound of two engines starting, with the groan from Booth informing him that they'd taken the SUV as well as their own car. Sighing, he looked aound the dimly-lit basement for some way out of their predicament, but was jolted out of his thoughts by a sharp pain in his wrists as Booth tugged hard on the tape that held them.

"Ow," he said pointedly, and couldn't help but smirk at the agent's muffled retort.

Booth's protests at their treatment had been louder than Hodgins', and when the men had finished binding their hands, they'd stuck a strip of tape over his mouth, laughing at his enforced silence. Despite his fleeting amusement at this development, Hodgins now realised that Booth had no way of giving him any instructions on methods of escape.

Ever hopeful, he asked nonetheless, "So what do we do now?"

Booth's answer was a somewhat melodramatic sigh and another sharp tug on their bonds.

Hodgins nodded. "Right, we cut the tape off." He paused for thought. "How exactly are we supposed to cut the tape off without using our hands? Or a knife?"

Hearing Booth's unintelligible attempt at an explanation and safe in the knowledge that he had no gun with which to shoot him, the entomologist interrupted, "Dude, you know I can't understand a word that you're saying, right?"

Despite his lack of guns, Booth managed to jab an elbow hard into Hodgins' back.

Wincing, he looked round, deciding that he would have to come up with his own plan of escape. He smiled to himself at the thought, knowing that he would attain an as yet unheard of level of respect at the lab when it became widely known that he single-handedly rescued a federal agent from certain death. Obviously his edited version of the scenario would leave out the fact that he had been captured too, and that death wasn't so much "certain" as "easily avoidable when someone came looking for them and unlocked the basement."

Flushed with the mere thought of success, Hodgins' eyes lit up when he saw a metal nail protruding from a pillar, where someone had misjudged their hammering and left the sharp end pointing out towards the center of the room. Happily, he announced, "I know what we need to do. We just have to stand up and go over to that nail and-"

He was cut off by a shout of pained objection from Booth. Craning his neck, Hodgins looked behind him to see that, while he had stood up in his enthusiasm, the agent hadn't managed to follow, resulting in his arms being twisted at an excruciating angle as Hodgins had tried to move towards the post.

Eyes widening, the entomologist quickly crouched back down next to his friend, who let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on his shoulders was lessened. Feeling slightly guilty, he apologised, reminding himself that Booth was not psychic and so couldn't possibly know to move at exactly the same time as him. "Sorry, man."

Booth muttered something that sounded remarkably like "You will be."

Attributing the threat to the distortion of the gag, Hodgins tried again, "We need to stand up." Thinking about what just happened, he amended, "And you probably realised that already."

He didn't know it was possibly to convey sarcasm through duct tape, but somehow Booth managed it.

"Hey, just trying not to break your arms here," he said defensively, feeling aggrieved that the agent was in a worse situation than he was and yet was still mocking him. "Now can you stand, or do you need me to help you up?"

Booth's reply could've been either from all he could make out, but the agent manoeuvred himself to a crouching position while Hodgins wobbily tried to stay upright. Satisfied that they were both ready to stand, he instructed, "Okay, stand up on three. One, two-"

Before he reached three, Booth had pushed himself to his feet, dragging Hodgins behind him and causing a similar pain to rocket through the his shoulders also at the temporarily awkward angle. Whimpering slightly, he rightened himself, suddenly feeling more guilty about the pain he inadvertently inflicted on the agent earlier and praying that Booth wouldn't seek further retribution later.

Seeing that they were both upright, he started to walk over to the nail in front of him, informing Booth, "We can use the nail to slice through the tape. Its point looks sharp enough to puncture a few layers of tape, so if we start at the edge and work downward, it should free us."

Booth stumbled as he was dragged backwards across the room, his feet colliding with Hodgins' ankles as he struggled to keep his footing. He'd just about got his stride when the shorter man stopped abruptly, causing Booth's back and arms to bash heavily against him.

Hodgins let out a surprised yelp as Booth's bound hands bumped hard against his rear, and poked him with his elbows in return. "Not cool, man. Keep your hands to yourself."

Booth shoved him back with greater ferocity, his angry grunt making his feelings about the accusation crystal clear.

Not wanting to get into a wrestling match with a man who was taller, stronger and trained in more ways to kill people than he was, Jack decided to let it go, instead turning his attention back to the pillar and the helpful nail. "Okay, turn ninety degrees counter-clockwise." They did. "Now, lift your hands to the left as far as they'll go." Booth complied and Hodgins craned his neck to see what they needed to do. "Now, if we both push hard, the nail should pierce the top edge of the tape and make it easier to tear. Ready?" He made a muffled noise of agreement and together they pushed their bonds against the protuding point.

Unfortunately, the tape was stronger than expected. Booth let out a cry of pain as it slid over the point, causing the nail to embed itself in his arm. He pulled away with a wince and Hodgins turned to see a thin stream of blood coursing down his arm. "When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

The irritated reply informed him that tetanus was the least of his worries right now.

Cowed into silence by his mistake, Hodgins kept his mouth shut as Booth lifted their arms, lining the center of the tape up with the nail before pushing firmly. There was a slight pop as the nail penetrated the silver duct tape and Hodgins felt Booth tug firmly upwards. He debated protesting that this movement was very uncomfortable for him, but decided against it when he felt cool air on the inside of his wrists as the restraints became loose.

With sheer desperation, they pulled gratefully away from each other, both wincing as the tape was ripped unceremoniously off their wrists. Rubbing his raw skin, Hodgins turned to see Booth pull his gag off, throwing it to the floor as he muttered, angrily, "Why the hell did they gag me and not you?"

A smug smile playing on his lips, Hodgins offered, "Do you really want me to answer that? 'Cause that's just too easy..."

Booth glared at him. "Know what? You really can't judge. You nearly dislocated my shoulder, you jabbed a nail into my arm-"

"Hey, that was a joint effort," he protested. "You played an active part in that nail jabbing, so don't even think about arresting me for assault."

"Glad to see that slap they gave you didn't affect your paranoia at all," Booth shot back, sarcastically, as he tried to stem the blood flow from his arm.

"Slap?!" he repeated indignantly, remembering the hard punch to the head he'd received from the fleeing killers. "No, a slap is something your girlfriend gives you when she catches you checking out her sister. That was a full-on right hook."

Booth smirked, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't know Angela had a sister."

Feeling his anger ebb slightly, Hodgins shrugged, "Eh, sister, boss, hairdresser, best friend from college; it's all the same."

Wrapping his tie round his injury, Booth smiled to himself in knowing agreement. Seeing this as a sign of a truce, Hodgins asked casually, "You alright? They gave you a few slaps too."

Finished with his makeshift bandage, Booth looked over at him with a slight nod. "I'm fine." He scanned the basement as he said with determination, "But I'd be a whole lot better if we could get out of here and stop those guys running off to Mexico City with my wheels."

Hodgins opened his mouth to point out that the traditional definition of "fine" did not include a black eye and a split lip, but decided against it as he watched Booth jog up the steps to try to force the door open, only to jog back down again when it didn't budge. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, "Um, not wanting to state the obvious, but the window?"

Booth looked up towards the thin window standing at least eight feet above floor level. "Not wanting to state the obvious," he mimicked, mockingly, "But in case you hadn't noticed, we're not that tall, and I don't see anything to stand on."

"I do," he answered without thinking. Booth looked at him quizzically, and Hodgins returned the stare pointedly.

Getting his gist, Booth shook his head, "Hell, no. You are not climbing onto my shoulders. That is so not going to happen."

"Well, you can't exactly climb on mine," he retorted, smirking slightly. Booth glared at him, and he shrugged, "Is it my fault I'm shorter than you?"

"Yes."

"What? No, it's not!"

"Well it's your fault that you're here instead of Bones," Booth stated petulantly.

Hodgins raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you'd let her climb on your shoulders but not me?"

"Yes," Booth said, surprised there was any doubt in the matter.

Not wishing to begin a conversation about the similarities between him and Dr Brennan, Hodgins decided to go with the forceful approach, reassuring himself again that there were no firearms in the vicinity. "Look, I don't see a better way out, so unless you want to starve to death in here or have some secret tunnelling tool that I don't know about, just let me climb on your damn shoulders."

Booth's mouth fell open at his outburst and Hodgins did his best to resist the duck-and-cover urge that had overcome him. After a few moments of tense silence, Booth dropped to his knees with a resigned sigh, "Fine. But if you tell anyone about this, I will shoot you."

Not doubting him for a moment, Hodgins hurried to clamber onto his back before he changed his mind. Booth groaned as he sat astride his shoulders, his legs dangling down in front of him and his hands holding his head for balance. "If you tell _any_one..." he threatened again, not enjoying the current situation.

"My lips are sealed," the entomologist said quickly. "Now let me open the window."

Sighing, Booth slowly got to his feet, wincing as Hodgins' panicked fingers dug in to his scalp as though that would prevent him from falling. Looking and feeling a lot like a circus act, they teetered over to the window, which, to their mutual relief, opened easily.

Giving a short whoop of success, Hodgins leaned to climb out, instructing Booth, "Go forward some more. Forward." This instruction was accompanied by a prompting pelvic moment and it took all of Booth's self control not to drop him or vomit. Or both. Closing his eyes, he took another step forward, his nose now inches from the wall in front of him.

Since he had now gained the required leverage, Hodgins wasted no time in hoisting himself up and through the window. On turning round, he was mildly surprised to see Booth holding his bloody nose, and quickly realised that he had accidentally slammed his head into the wall as he had pulled himself up. Registering Booth's infuriated glare, he pointed to side of the house and stammered, "I'm just going to go let you out."

Hurrying away before the agent could reply, he pushed open the front door and wove his way through the house to the door to the basement. Not finding a key, a grin spread across Hodgins' face at the thought of what would follow. Admittedly, his brief foray out in the field had included being taken captive and being locked in the basement, as well as inflicting numerous injuries on the FBI agent who was there, in theory, to protect him, but this more than compensated.

Smiling broadly, he yelled, "Stand back!" before bringing his foot up to meet the lock of the basement door. It splintered under his foot and swung open, and Hodgins resisted the urge to do a triumphant victory dance.

Despite the many misfortunes of the day, he'd finally stumbled upon his own pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He could now happily spend his days poring over particulates and slime in the lab, safe in the knowledge that he, Jack Hodgins, had gone out to do fieldwork with the FBI and had kicked down a door.

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_Reviews much loved._


	13. It is You Gives Ear

_A/N: Thank you as always to the wonderful people who clicked that little blue/violet/color-ambivalent button at the bottom, especially since you all gave such amazing and detailed reviews. I really appreciate it._

_This is about as angsty as I'm ever going to get. Sorry to those who requested more humor but I've been playing with this one for ages. The next one is quite possibly the strangest idea I've ever had for a story and should hopefully make you laugh, but this one's more likely to induce the opposite reaction. Rated T for sensitive subject matter. **Tissue Warning **(courtesy of SnoopGirl69)_

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**It is you gives ear when I pray...**

Swallowing hard, Temperance slid her slim fingers around the knocker of Booth's door and let it fall.

The bang rang out through the empty corridor like a judge's gavel, leaving a tense silence surrounding her as she wrapped her coat around herself, biting her lip. There was no answer and she checked her watch, wondering how late hospital visiting hours ended. About to give up, she rooted in her handbag for her car keys, resolving to call him later, when she heard the clink of the chain being removed. Wishing she'd never come, she took a deep breath as the door swung open, bringing her face to face with her partner for the first time in two weeks.

When she saw him, she could've sworn it had been two years. His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them, and the heavy bags under them only added to the exhaustion that filled him from head to toe. He usually stood upright, full of life and confidence, but as he stood in front of her, he slouched against the door, his well-worn jeans brushing the floor behind his bare feet and his upper body clothed in a old tee that had seen better days. His hair was messy, and although she knew it wasn't possible for humans to shrink, he seemed smaller somehow, not the physically imposing man she was used to.

The ghost of a smile played on his lips as he said, with his best attempt at normalcy, "Hey, Bones."

"Hi," she returned awkwardly, watching as his eyes flickered to the hallway behind her to check she was alone.

Apparently reaching a conclusion, he asked with concern, "What are you doing here? Did something happen or-"

Waving her hand, she cut him off, still not sure exactly what reason to give for her presence. "No, everything's fine. I just- Well, Angela said I should come round, since we've not seen you for two weeks and..."

Catching her drift, Booth nodded and moved aside, pushing the door open for her to enter. "Come in."

She hesitated. "Isn't Parker..."

"He's asleep, Bones," he replied, his tone quiet but friendly. "Please, come in."

He turned to walk into the kitchen before she could answer, leaving her with no choice but to follow him inside, shutting the door behind her.

The second she stepped inside, she could almost feel the waves of despair and melancholy hitting her. It hung in the air, thick and suffocating, as she glanced around, noticing the subtle indicators of Booth's current situation.

Children's toys lay scattered on the floor, as though neither father nor son had the energy to pick them up, and days-old newspapers sat in untidy heaps on the coffee table, speckled with dozens of stains from coffee cups. The trash can by the couch was filled with tissues, proof that someone had been crying, and two pairs of sneakers, one adult's and one child's, sat in readiness by the door. Booth's usually spotless kitchen was in disarray, and the smell of greasy takeout burgers hung in the air, indicating that he no longer had the time or the enthusiasm to cook.

Overwhelmed, Brennan moved to the couch to sit down as Booth called from the kitchen, "You want a drink, Bones?"

"I'll have a beer if you've got one," she called back, deciding to follow the social niceties before arriving at the unavoidable topic of conversation.

He emerged from the kitchen a moment later, and handed her a beer before sinking down into his armchair, holding a soda in his own hand. Registering this, she inquired, "Did I take the last one?"

Smiling at her concern, he shook his head. "No, it's fine. I don't know if I'm going to need to drive to the hospital tonight, so I thought I'd stick with the soda just in case." Before she could get a question in, he continued, "So how's everything at the Jeffersonian? Heard you got stuck with Michaels as a liaison."

Brennan smirked slightly at the memory. "Not any more."

"Really?" he asked, his amusement tinged with hurt at being kept out of the loop. "What did you do to him?"

"Zach broke his nose."

Booth raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Zach? What'd he do, hit him with a bone?"

"A microscope," she replied matter-of-factly and smiled as a genuine grin spread across her partner's face at the thought. "It wasn't like he meant to; he was just moving workstations quickly and Agent Michaels got in the way."

He chuckled. "Please tell me someone bought the kid a beer afterwards."

Brennan's smile widened. "Hodgins offered to buy him stock in Budweiser."

Booth laughed again, leaning back in his chair as he then said, only partly teasingly, "Wow, I'm away for two weeks and Zach turns into the Karate Kid. Does the Earth still orbit the Sun, or has that changed to?"

Despite the light-hearted appearance of the remark, she caught the hidden worry underneath. The smile slipped from her face as she said sincerely, "You're not missing out on anything. As far as we're concerned, you're still our FBI liaison, whether you're on sick leave or not."

Grateful for her reassurance, Booth took a sip of his soda as he corrected ruefully, "I used up all my sick days on Tuesday. Cullen's now given me another two weeks of paid "sympathy leave", but when that runs out, I may have to get someone pregnant so I can take paternity leave."

Offering him a fleeting smirk at the feeble joke, Temperance decided to seize the opportunity, asking bluntly, "How's Rebecca?"

A flash of fear flickered across Booth's face as he flinched at the question. Taking a deep, resigned breath, he sank back into his chair, his dejection almost palpable in the silent apartment. "She's not good, Bones." His voice became quiet as he explained as best he could, "They diagnosed her with hepatorenal syndrome last week. Apparently, she's got Type 1." Brennan nodded in understanding, and he continued, "I don't know what that means exactly, but I do know it's the bad kind. The statistics..." He chuckled bitterly to himself. "God, I've heard so many statistics over the last few days. Anyway, however the doctors spin it, it's not looking good. The mortality rate... Well, they said it was a miracle she'd made it to two weeks."

"Liver transplant?" she inquired softly, knowing that the best chance of survival was through getting a new liver.

Booth shook his head. "She's on the list, but there's been nothing so far." His eyes left Brennan, darting over to Parker's bedroom before dropping to the floor. "Every day, we go in and she looks worse. There's nothing they can do; we just have to wait till a liver comes or wait till she..." He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. "It's a hell of a way to go."

Unsure of what was required of her, she asked with quiet concern, "How's Parker? Is he still at school?"

His attention momentarily drawn from the mother to the child, Booth nodded absently, "We thought it'd help keep his mind off things. It's hard enough that he doesn't get to come home to his mom everyday, without having him spend every waking moment in the hospital. It's not like he understands what's going on anyway."

Brennan raised her eyebrows and he elaborated, "I mean, of course he knows his mom's sick, but for Parker, "sick" means a tummy bug or the flu. All his grandparents are still around, so he's never been introduced to the idea of death before." He cast his eyes heavenward. "I just wish he didn't have to learn by it being his mom."

"He's still got a father," she volunteered. "That's more than some children have."

A melancholy smirk played on his lips as he said bitterly, "And what kind of father am I? Look at this place, Bones. I've not cooked a decent meal for him in days; we always get takeout on the way to and from the hospital. I can only just manage to get him dressed for school before I have to go deal with Rebecca's parents, and the doctors, and Drew..."

"Shouldn't Drew be the one doing all of this?" she asked, logically. "He's Rebecca's boyfriend, so surely the doctors and the parents would be his responsibility?"

Staring at his soda, he shook his head, his voice barely more than a whisper, "The guy's a wreck. He's barely holding it together himself, and if he had to deal with everything, I don't think he'd cope. Obviously Parker's mine to look after, but I know Rebecca's parents pretty well too. They're nice people, but they seem to think that since it's not my child or girlfriend in that hospital bed, I'm going to be the one who can take care of everything."

She looked at him with sympathy. "But that's not fair..."

Booth looked up at her, jolted back to reality by her words. "I thought you'd agree with them. I mean, it's logical, isn't it? Let the guy who seems the least upset deal with the problems?"

Temperance fell silent, knowing that she had no rational reason to support her sympathy. Her partner read this in her face, nodding with tired resignation, "It makes sense, but it doesn't make it any easier." He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling and asking, with a childlike quality to his voice, "How come there isn't a word for what I am?"

"What you are?" she repeated, confused.

"What can I say when I introduce myself to the doctors? What reason can I give for being there? Drew's her boyfriend, Joe and Steph are her parents, Parker's her son, but what am I?" He seemed to ponder this for a moment. "I know I'm her ex, but that doesn't seem right somehow. "Ex" is someone you don't see anymore, someone you don't care about, not someone you share a child with."

She stayed silent, unsure of what to say, and he continued, "Five years, Bones. I was with her for five years. I couldn't even say goodbye after that long; instead we kept meeting up to try to recapture what we had." He sighed. "Is there a technical term for this? Is there some anthropological definition for what I am, or am I just the 'ex'?"

"You're family," Temperance said simply. "You have a child together, and no matter what the circumstances are now, that alone constitutes a family. And from what you told me, you seem to love each other in a non-romantic way, indicative of familial rather than sexual relationship."

Booth seemed to consider this, before nodding slowly, "Yeah, family sounds about right." He gave her a small smile, and Brennan felt a surge of happiness at the apparent success of her reassurance. "Guess I've got something to say when I talk to the kidney doctor tomorrow."

"Nephrologist," she corrected instinctively and he smirked, taking a sip of his soda.

"Bones, I've heard enough clinical talk to last me a lifetime. Just humor me and call him a kidney doc."

Mentally agreeing to the request, she asked with sincerity, "Are you alright to see the doctors? I mean, it's a lot of pressure, especially with something this serious."

The faint glint of tears in his eye reminded her that he already knew how serious it was, but he answered nonetheless, "I'm fine, Bones. Besides, if I don't do it, who else is going to?"

Before she could open her mouth to offer, she was interrupted by a quiet voice from behind her. "Mommy?"

Taken by surprise, both she and Booth turned to see Parker standing in the door of his bedroom, his blanket trailing on the floor and his eyes swollen with tears. Sleepy and upset, he looked over to see that the woman's voice came from someone else, and the tears began to flow faster. "I want my mommy."

Booth was on his feet in seconds, scooping the child into his arms and rocking him gently as he spoke, "She's not here right now, bub, remember? But you need to be a big boy like we agreed and I promise we can go see Mommy before school tomorrow, okay?"

The little boy just burrowed his head further into his dad's chest, his tears falling on his tee shirt as he mumbled again, "I want my mommy."

Rubbing his hand on his back in soothing circles, Booth repeated, sympathetically, "I know you do, Parker. But if you go back to bed, you'll see her in the morning. Do you want to do that?"

From her position by the couch, Brennan saw the child's blond curls bounce as he nodded, still crying. Booth planted a kiss on his head, whispering, "Good boy", before carrying him back into the bedroom. Uncertain whether to follow, she decided against it, knowing her skills with children were even more lacking than her ability to offer appropriate comfort.

Glancing around the apartment, she decided that while emotional support was beyond her, tidying certainly wasn't. Keeping an eye on the bedroom door, she located a large trash bag in one of the kitchen drawers and moved briskly around, placing the burger wrappers, newspapers, and whatever else she could find in the bag. She also emptied out the trash can, figuring that the removal of the evidence of tears would hopefully prevent any more. With that done and still no sign of Booth, she picked up all Parker's toys, stacking them neatly in the toybox in the corner before returning to the couch, wondering if she was supposed to leave now.

Unwilling to abandon her partner when he was clearly so vulnerable, she made her way over to the bedroom, peering in through the small gap where the light fell on the bed. What she saw nearly broke her heart.

Parker lay in bed, tucked under a space-themed duvet, with Booth kneeling beside him, one of his large hands intertwined with his son's two small ones. In the dim light, she could see how hard the child was clutching his father, as though holding on to a lifeline which he never wanted to lose. Booth's other hand rested on Parker's head, stroking his ruffled hair as he sniffled softly. In the silence of the night, Brennan could hear Booth speaking quietly, his tone that of familiar reassurance as he recited the Lord's Prayer to his crying son.

"...Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven..."

The boy's tired voice mixed with his father's as he recited the words he'd heard many times over the last two weeks. His contributions were intermittent but present, as they both took comfort in the well-known prayer, and Temperance heard his sobs subside as he focused his sleepy mind on the words, guided by Booth.

"...As we forgive those that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation..."

His eyes started to drift shut, his cheeks still stained with slowly drying tears, and his lips stopped moving along with the words. She watched a small smile of relief appear on Booth's face, the few tears on his own cheeks glistening as they fell, and heard him recite the last line, soothing his son off to sleep.

"...For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever..."

He paused, and both he and Brennan held their breath for a moment as the sound of Parker's steady breathing filled the small bedroom. Satisfied that he was asleep, Booth carefully slid his hand from his son's grasp, kissing him lightly on the cheek before standing up and moving to the door, swiping away the escaped tears as he saw Brennan standing there.

She didn't move as he approached, overcome with guilt at her inability to comfort her partner. Observing the shared prayer, the common reassurance for both of them, she suddenly felt even more useless than she thought possible.

Still standing in the doorway of Parker's room, Booth dropped his eyes to the floor, a combination of shame and pain etched on his face. Unsure of the rules governing the use of prayer, Temperance ventured the only word she knew that could follow what she'd just witnessed.

"Amen?"

His gaze shifted up to her in surprise, and she wondered if he was about to challenge her, an atheist, for using religious words. He didn't, and relief flooded through her as a genuine smile crossed his face, his eyes filling with immeasurable gratitude as he repeatedly sincerely,

"Amen."

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_Reviews are appreciated._


	14. Out on the Road

_A/N: **This is the second update in as many days. If you haven't read yesterday's (the weepy one) it's only a click away... **This random update is not in place of my regular ones - I will still write and post a new story on Sunday. __Sorry if I missed replying to anyone's review for the last chapter - I had a problem with my email and lost track of who I had and hadn't responded to._

_This is rated K and is possibly the most stupid, crazy and pointless thing I've ever written. I have no idea where any of it came from, but I've spent my day sitting in front of the computer and this came out. Enjoy._

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**You've been out on the road with a craving for tar...**

To say that Seeley Booth was freaked out would be an understatement.

Sitting in the driver's seat, he stared out at the road in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around the situation, with the same amount of success as a toddler trying to hug a sumo wrestler. Taking a deep breath, he decided to take it slowly, letting his brain adjust to one thing at a time, in an attempt to suppress the urge to leap out of the speeding car, laws of physics and certain death be damned.

He was in a car.

That wasn't really a surprise, since he spent a lot of his day in a car when he wasn't in the lab, at the Bureau or at a crime scene. Cars, he could deal with.

He was driving at high speed.

Again, the number of speeding fines he'd incurred over his lifetime indicated that this wasn't a particularly unusual occurence.

He was driving down an army landing strip.

Admittedly, this was slightly strange, but it _was_ for an experiment, and even he could see that, logically, this was the best place to come if you wanted to drive quickly in a straight line. The army didn't exactly share this opinion, but Booth was grateful for his partner's obstinate nature on this count, since it was she who had badgered the general into letting them use the land. And speaking of his partner...

He was sitting next to Brennan.

Once more, this was perfectly normal. He would drive, and she would sit in the passenger seat and antagonise him. That was their arrangement and it worked fine. He glanced over at her briefly, noting with slight concern that their usual arrangement didn't require safety glasses. His eyes traveled to the rear view mirror and he sighed at what he saw, hoping it had been a mirage.

Hodgins and Zach were sitting in the back seat. Also with safety glasses.

Now, this was out of the ordinary, but he could cope with it. He'd had squints in the car before, and as long as they didn't talk, chew, hum, whistle, sing, groan, breathe in an overly loud fashion or sneeze, he had no problem with them. Feeling confident, his gaze dropped to Brennan's lap and his attempts at a slow, methodical processing of his surroundings failed.

She was holding a pig.

A deceased pig.

A deceased pig wearing a miniature blue boilersuit.

Forcing his eyes away from the pig in the front seat, Booth looked in the mirror again, only to be confronted with two more pigs, identical right down to their carefully-made outfits. One lay on its back on Zach's lap, its trotters pointing skyward, while the other sat up in the middle seat, its piggy snout facing forward as though watching what was going on. Seeing its beady eyes looking at him in the mirror with an eerie air of omniscience, Booth snapped.

"Get that pig off my seat or I swear to God I'll shoot you all."

Brennan looked over at him, perplexed. "I thought killing was frowned upon in Christian ideology."

"It is," Zach chimed in from the back seat. "'Thou shalt not kill' is regarded as the fifth of the ten commandments by Lutherans and Roman Catholics, but is counted as the sixth by most other branches of Christianity and Judaism."

Gripping the steering wheel hard in frustration, Booth muttered under his breath, "I'm fairly certain God would make an exception in these circumstances." Before Brennan could say anything in response, he reiterated loudly, "Hodgins, move the pig."

Smiling in amusement, Hodgins lifted the pig from the center seat, holding it up and looking it in the eye, "What should I call you?"

"Bacon?" Booth suggested sarcastically, and Hodgins glared at him in the mirror.

"How would you like it if someone called you "Meat"?" he asked, clearly offended on the pig's behalf.

Booth rolled his eyes. "It's dead. I don't think it has an opinion."

"You told me to talk to dead people," Brennan helpfully contributed, falling back, as ever, on logic. "Why should pigs be any different?"

Her partner glanced over at her in disbelief. "Because they're _pigs_, Bones. Naming a dead pig is not the same as visiting your mother's grave."

"Obviously," she said with a nod, and Booth's heart leapt at the thought that he might actually be getting through to her. This was abruptly quashed as she continued, "My mother already has a name. Maybe we should name the pigs, if only to make them easier to distinguish later."

Sighing, he relented. "Fine, you know, you just go ahead and name the pigs. I'm guessing you're going to call yours Jasper?"

She looked at him as if he was challenged. "I already have a Jasper." Lifting up the pig, she scrutinised it carefully, before announcing decisively, "Jemima."

"What? No, you can't call it Jemima."

"Why?" she asked, confused by Booth's sudden opinion on the name of her dead pig.

With a long-suffering sigh, he explained, "Because Jemima's a duck." There was silence in the car. "From the kids' books? Jemima Puddle-duck? Peter Rabbit?" Silence. "Beatrix Potter?"

"I know her! She's a wizard," Brennan interrupted triumphantly, a proud smile on her face.

Booth just shook his head. "That's _Harry_ Potter, Bones, and it's a he. _He_'s a wizard." He looked over at the pig again. "Kind of like your friend there."

Brennan eyed the pig suspiciously. "Booth, wizards aren't real, and even if they were, I doubt they'd take the form of a pig."

Hodgins laughed. "I think he means your pig's a male, Dr Brennan."

She rotated the pig, seeing the telltale bulge in the blue fabric. "Oh." Realising the point of Booth's argument, she amended, "Not Jemima."

Seeing the speedometer climb past eighty, Booth kept his eyes on the road as he wondered, "Bones, I've been meaning to ask; why are they all wearing boiler-suits?"

Zach answered for her. "The friction between the victim and the road varies in accordance to the clothes they are wearing, and since Toby Marsh was found wearing a blue boilersuit, it was necessary to replicate those conditions in order to establish the most likely scenario for the marks on the bones."

Brennan simplified slightly, "When we push the pigs out of the windows, we need to examine the spread of the body as well as the direction and depth of the striations on the bone caused by the fall. Wind resistance and road positioning will make this different for each window, but we need to ensure we have done everything possible to match the original circumstances so that our findings will be admissible in a court of law, and that includes clothing."

Hodgins simplified further, "We dress the pigs up, throw them out and see which matches our victim."

"Got it," the agent said with a grateful nod. "Where'd you get the suits anyway? Please tell me that you can't buy this stuff on the internet."

"Angela made them," the entomologist replied, evidently proud of his girlfriend's talents as a pig seamstress.

Booth shook his head. "And here was me thinking she was the normal one."

"Hey, she clothes them, we send them out into the big wide world," Hodgins said with a grin. "It's perfect parenting."

"Yet another reason why you people shouldn't be allowed to breed," Booth stated firmly.

Hodgins looked offended. "Hey, John, Paul, George and Ringo Montenegro-Hodgins are coming into this world one day."

"You're naming your children after the Beatles?" Zach asked, bewildered, but the entomologist just shrugged in acknowledgement.

"Did you know that if you play the vinyl edition of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band backwards-"

"Whatever it is, I can go to my grave not knowing," Booth interrupted, receiving an annoyed grunt from the back seat. Ignoring him, he asked impatiently, "Can you not just get on with throwing the pigs out of the windows?"

"These types of injury could not have been sustained under one hundred miles per hour. The car needs to be moving faster before we can jettison the pigs," Zach instructed, leaning forward to peer at the speedometer. Unfortunately, as he leaned, his pig came too, resulting in the car swerving suddenly as Booth yelped at the feel of the cold clammy snout on his upper arm.

"Get that pig off me!"

Cowed, Zach and pig retreated to the back seat again as Booth glowered at him in the rearview mirror. "You put that thing anywhere near me and you'll be the one going out of the window, you understand me?"

Zach nodded, knowing that it wouldn't be possible for Booth to throw him out from the driver's seat, but not doubting the agent's ability to solve that particular problem somehow. Possibly by collusion with Hodgins.

Said entomologist chose that moment to suggest, "How about the Three Musketeers?"

Booth frowned. "What about the Three Musketeers?"

"As names for the pigs," he explained, as though it was obvious. "I call Aramis."

"Athos," Brennan chipped in, contemplating whether her pig looked like an Athos.

"Mine doesn't look like a Porthos," Zach complained, after having the same internal debate as his former mentor. "How about Snap, Crackle and Pop?"

"Mine's called Snap," Brennan and Hodgins both stated at the same time, before fixing each other with challenging glares.

Deciding to cut in before an argument started, Booth suggested, "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?"

Brennan folded her arms. "Are you suggesting that one of these pigs is uglier than the others?" Booth gaped helplessly. "Which one? Which do you think is uglier?"

"Bones, I didn't mean-"

"Sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll?" Hodgins volunteered with a grin.

"That's four things," Zach pointed out, clearly missing the triple nature of the well-known phrase.

"Sex, lies and videotape," he amended with a suggestive wink.

"I do not feel comfortable being in a car with a pig named "Sex"," the young man stated firmly. "Especially a dead pig."

Hodgins' smile widened at his discomfort. "I don't know, Sex the Pig has quite a ring to it."

There was a disgusted groan from the entire car, and Brennan chided, "Hodgins..."

He held his hands up in defence. "Just an idea..."

"How aout Larry, Curly and Moe?" Booth proposed.

The scientists seemed to consider this, looking appreciatively at their soon-to-be-roadkill companions. Eventually Temperance nodded, "I can see my pig as a Larry."

Booth chuckled. "Who says I was talking about the pigs?"

Her mouth dropped open and she slapped Booth hard on the arm. Before the agent could retaliated, Hodgins spoke up again, not wishing to die in a car crash because the driver was too busy fighting with his partner, "What about Huey, Dewey and Louie?"

"Those are ducks," Zach said with confidence, remembering his childhood spent watching cartoons and the many physical impossibilities he'd noticed in them from an early age.

Hodgins sighed. "Yeah, I know they're ducks, but I've run out of famous trios, so just go with it. I'm naming mine Huey."

"Mine's Louie," Temperance decided, absently patting the pig's head.

"I guess mine could be Dewey," Zach conceded, still not fully satisfied with the pig/duck ambiguity involved.

"Great," Booth said with a fair dose of sarcasm. "Well, we're at one hundred miles per hour, so go ahead and see if Huey can fly."

Hodgins pouted slightly, having grown quite attached to his pig, but wound down the window nevertheless. Holding the pig up, he said sadly, "Looks like this is where we part ways, buddy. But think of it this way, you've dedicated your body to science."

"Would you just throw him out already?" Booth said impatiently.

Sighing, Hodgins hoisted the pig up and lobbed it out of the window, calling with a chuckle, "Fly, my pretty, fly, fly!"

Everyone peered through the back window as the pig bounced along the concrete. Booth soon focused his attention back on the driving while the rest looked with interest at the spread of the remains and the possible fracture patterns involved.

Satisfied he'd got far enough away from the first pig, Booth looked at Zach. "Okay, kid, it's Dewey's turn to become roadkill."

Hodgins smirked, addressing Booth, "What are you, Count Duckula?"

"What?!" he asked incredulously. "How am I Count Duckula?"

Brennan, of all people, answered him, "Well, you do seem very eager to send these pigs/ducks to their death..."

"Bones, do you even know who Count Duckula is?"

"No, but I'd assume, since the name is an amalgamation of Dracula and duck, that he would be someone who kills ducks." She pondered, before clarifying, "Possibly by vampirism."

Booth shook his head, partly at his partner's lack of knowledge and partly because squints were comparing him to a cartoon vampire duck. "No, Count Duckula is a vampire who _is_ a duck. But he's a vegetarian." Remembering the salient point of the argument, he added, "Oh yeah, and these pigs are already dead, so it's not like I want to kill them. Now could you please just throw the pig out before we get to the end of the landing strip?"

Zach didn't need to be told twice and Dewey quickly followed his brother, accompanied by a satisfied nod from the younger anthropologist as he rolled away.

As the window came up, Booth turned to his partner. "You're next, Bones. Send ol' Louie to that pigpen in the sky." Her brow wrinkled as she tried to fathom the meaning of a floating pigpen, and Booth simplified, "Just throw the pig."

Rolling her eyes at him, she complied, pushing the remaining pig out onto the tarmac with its brothers. Once the pig was clear, Booth applied the brake, bringing the car to a manoeuvrable speed before turning round and heading back up to the pigs as he asked, "What did they die of? I mean, did you kill them just for this, or were they already dead?"

Looking mildly insulted at the prospect of her being a pig-killer, she retorted, "No, they were already dead. Hereditary heart abnormality - it would have been a quick and painless death."

"You know, I always used to like the story of the three little pigs," Hodgins reflected from the back seat. "I mean, there they are, just three helpless little piggies trying to stand up against the tyrannical wolf, and they manage it by banding together and cooking him alive. It's kind of inspirational when you think about it."

Brennan and Zach made small "Hm"s of agreement, while Booth just looked between the three of them in disbelief. "What? No! It's not like the wolf did anything that bad..."

"Dude, he tried to blow down their houses."

"Yeah, but he didn't attack the pigs themselves, did he?" Booth defended.

"Well, he would've done," Brennan contributed. "He chased them, which is why they all had to run to the brick house for safety. The wolf wanted to eat the pigs."

"That's attempted murder at the most," Booth shot back, annoyed. "Not in any way punishable by the death penalty. It's not like he knew it was coming either; he just climbed down the chimney and boom, boiled to death by the pigs. No chance to defend himself, nothing. For all we know, the poor guy could've been trying to return something one of the pigs had dropped."

This declaration was met with silence, and the squints regarded Booth with a mixture of confusion, disdain and pity in the light of his impassioned defence of the wolf.

Eventually Hodgins spoke up, "You know, in some versions of the story, the wolf eats the first two pigs."

Booth considered this, then shrugged, "Okay, if he's a serial killer, he's allowed to be cooked."

As justice was restored to the fairytale world, the SUV pulled to a stop by the remains of Brennan's pig, Louie, and the squints disembarked enthusiastically, followed by a slightly less eager Booth, who preferred his bacon in a sandwich, not liberally spread across concrete. He loitered by the vehicle as the others moved among the remains, taking pictures and retrieving various bones for comparison back at the lab.

They clambered back into the car sooner than he'd expected, and he slid back into the driver's seat, asking curiously, "Is that it? Is that all you want?"

His partner nodded. "This is all we need from each pig to determine which of the windows the victim was thrown through."

Starting the engine, Booth looked at the remainder on the ground with distaste. "The general is not going to like this."

She shrugged. "I told him that the FBI would take care of it."

"You what?!"

Temperance looked at him, wide-eyed with genuine innocence. "I said that the FBI would clean it up. That is what usually happens at crime scenes."

"This isn't a crime scene, Bones! This is a bunch of squints throwing pigs out of cars for kicks!"

"Actually, it was to establish the exact location of the murder and corresponding identity of the murderer," Zach corrected, quickly falling silent when Booth shot him his most menacing glare.

"Like I said, for kicks." He waved his finger at her in annoyance. "I can't get a clean-up unit out here; it's not even human waste. You're going to have to do it."

The innocent look remained as she protested, "But we need to get back to the lab and analyse these striations. The suspects can only be held for another two hours, so we need to find out who pushed the victim out of the window as soon as possible."

"But- But-" Booth stammered as he tried desperately to concoct some argument that would prevent him from spending his afternoon scraping bits of Babe off the landing strip. "But can't you just come back after you've done that?"

"The general wants the strip clear as soon as possible." She looked at him with a hint of apology in her eyes. "You're going to have to do it."

There was a snort of laughter from the back seat, and Booth slammed his foot on the brake a little harder than necessary, causing the car to jerk to a stop by the next pig.

Brennan moved to get out, saying helpfully, "You might want to do it sooner rather than later, since the flesh will warm up in this heat and it'll be harder to remove."

Zach too opened his door, adding knowledge gained from experience, "Spatulas can be quite effective in prying off stubborn tissue matter."

Booth sat still, shell-shocked by the sudden bombshell that not only was he supposed to act as the driver while squints threw dead pigs from his vehicle but that he was required to clean up after them too. His shoulders slumped at the thought, and he heard Hodgins' door swing open behind him.

Grinning, the entomologist clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying with feigned sincerity, "Be sure to collect all of Huey. I want to give him a proper burial."

The door was slammed shut before Booth could reach his holster.

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_Reviews would give me something fun to read on the way to the insane asylum, where I am no doubt headed after that. Next chaptory will be marginally more sane, and quite possibly smutty. :)_


	15. You Know What You Need

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews for the last chaptory; it's a fairly sad comment when I find the reviews funnier than the actual story._

_**This chaptory is rated M. If you don't/shouldn't read smut, please come back next time for a wholesome story involving Christmas, Parker and some sickeningly sweet BB romance.** And because that's written in bold font, it must be obeyed. So sayeth the FFN laws. _

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**You know what you need...**

There are some days when a person just needs sex. For Temperance Brennan, today was one of those days.

In a scientific context, she would describe it as needing the rush of endorphins provided by sexual activity. In anthropological terms, it would be attributed to an innate desire to engage in intercourse with a member of the opposite sex to procreate, and perpetuate the species. From a psychological standpoint, which she rarely employed, it would be defined as an increased libido and a desire for the psychosomatic release achieved upon orgasm. However, in the vernacular, she simply needed to get laid.

Walking up the stairs of the modern apartment complex, she could feel the tension in her shoulders from the day's events. As irrational as it sounded, she felt like everyone at the Jeffersonian had been out to make her life that little bit more difficult, either by fighting with her over who got to examine the remains first, or by setting fire to inappropriate things, such as Jasper's tail.

Six months ago, she would've dealt with this frustration by staying up all night with her work, until she was too exhausted to be annoyed any more, or she would've gone to karate class and picked the tallest, strongest guy as her sparring partner/inadvertent human punchbag. However, as the keys in her hand attested, she was now the fortunate girlfriend of Seeley Booth, otherwise known as The World's Best Stress Reliever.

Smiling, she quickened her pace at the memory of their activities of the previous night, namely the fact that his tongue had the almost supernatural ability to erase all coherent thoughts from her mind. A contented grin played on her lips at the thought, and she pondered absently, _I wonder how much money you could make from a Seeley-Booth-shaped stress reliever. Maybe I should patent it..._

Climbing the last flight of stairs, she amused herself with daydreams of a large squishy Booth in mass production, but, as was so often the case with her Booth-oriented thoughts, her mind drifted to his ass. At the thought of other women squeezing what she had so clearly staked her claim on, her inner cavewoman arose with a jealous growl. _Booth. Ass. Mine. Grrr._

She slid her key in the lock of his apartment, deciding that Booth was definitely not for sharing, and pushed it open, calling casually, "Hello?"

"In the kitchen," came the reply, and she dropped her bag and coat on a nearby chair as she wandered into the kitchen to meet him.

She found him leaning against the table, still dressed in his suit, with a beer in his hand and a bruise on his left temple. Frowning in confusion, she moved over to him, brushing the mark gently with her fingers. "What happened?"

"I got hit by a baseball," he replied morosely, glaring at her as she laughed. "Gee, thanks for the sympathy, Bones."

Fixing a suitably repentant expression on her face, she leaned in closer, kissing him gently on the lips. "I'm sorry you got hurt."

He met her eyes. "I know you're not, but thanks for the attempt at sympathy."

Foiled, she rolled her eyes. "Why did you get hit with a baseball?"

"Because Jimmy Walker from Narco is a crap shot." She raised her eyebrows and he explained, "It was part of this team building thing Cullen's got us on. The Homicide vs Narcotics baseball game came after the assault course and before the "trust" session with some quack shrink." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "God, I will be so glad when this is over for another two years."

Brennan's curiosity was suddenly peaked and she asked with genuine concern, "Do you have the training again tomorrow?"

He nodded miserably. "Yep. The bus is leaving from the Hoover building at 6am." He wrapped his arms around her waist, looking up at her from his position against the table. "So tonight, I want nothing more than a nice meal, a few beers, and an evening in front of the TV with my beautiful girlfriend."

He pulled her into another tender kiss before she could object to his plans for the evening. Still determined to make her thoughts clear, she managed a "Hmm" of protest against his lips.

Booth pulled away. "'Hmm'?"

A wicked glint flashed in her eyes as she repeated pointedly, "Hmm." Moving closer, she pressed her body against his, her arms around his neck as she whispered, "That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Intending to show him exactly what she did have in mind, she returned the soft kiss before sliding her hand into his hair and slipping her tongue inside his mouth. Booth responded instantly, caressing her tongue with his and stroking his thumb in tiny circles on her shoulderblade, momentarily distracted from the quiet night he had envisioned. Finally, the memory of the 5.15am wake up call came back to him and he pulled away from the kiss, resting his hands on her hips.

"Bones..."

On a normal day, she would happily have stopped, played the concerned girlfriend and curled up with him on the couch after dinner. However, on a normal day, Zach didn't set fire to his own hair. Still needing her stress release, she began to trail slow, searing kisses down his neck as he protested, feebly, "I've got an early start tomorrow morning..."

_Well, I need sex, _she thought. _We both have our problems._ She nipped lightly at his neck to point out that this excuse was not enough.

"I'm exhausted, Bones..."

_Booth, you are already hard after three kisses. You cannot be that tired. _This excuse was also rejected with a bite.

"I swear, we can do this tomorrow..."

_We can, and we will, but the two events are not mutually exclusive. _Bite.

"We can do whatever you want tomorrow, but I need to sleep tonight."

_And you can. After I'm done. _Bite.

"Look, we get marked on performance at these things, so I need to be awake enough to do well."

_A+. A++. As many pluses as you want. Now stop whining. _Bite.

"Jeez, Bones, would you stop biting me?"

_No. _Bite.

Smirking as she felt him stiffen with each nip, she brought her mouth back to his, and was pleased to find that he was just as responsive as earlier. His protests melted away under the heat of the kiss, and she felt a jolt pass through her as he grabbed her ass firmly, pulling her hard against him. Wishing to encourage this behavior, she pushed him further back onto the table before moving to kneel astride him.

Surprised by the feel of the wood against his back, Booth's eyes flew open as her hands started to tug his shirt out of his pants and he asked, somewhat redundantly, "What are you doing?"

She blinked at him incredulously, her face seemingly conveying her thoughts. _I'm about to ride you on the kitchen table. What does it look like I'm doing?_

Realising the stupidity of his question, Booth tried again, "Can we at least go to the bedroom? Tomorrow's going to be bad enough without having to explain to the guys why I've got table bruises on my back."

Reluctantly, she clambered off the table, and he sat up again with a groan, saying gratefully, "Thank you." Getting to his feet, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her slowly by way of compensation for the lack of table sex. More than satisfied with this restitution, Temperance tilted her head back as an invitation to deepen the kiss, while they stumbled through the lounge to the bedroom, with Booth receiving a few more bruises as they went.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Brennan's hands immediately returned to Booth's shirt, tugging it out from his suit pants before moving to pull it up over his head. He gripped her wrists, smiling at her eagerness to get him out of his clothes. "You know, there is such a thing as foreplay, Bones."

She looked up at him, speaking innocently, "I know." Her fingers tightened around his shirt, "Naked foreplay." Without any further preamble, she lifted the shirt upwards with a firm yank. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to loosen the collar or cuffs, and the shirt promptly became stuck over Booth's head and hands.

In response to his muffled complaint, she apologised with as much sincerity as she could muster as she tried to unbutton his collar and unhook it from his tie, inwardly debating the age-old question of whether his body or face was more attractive. His head eventually emerged from the shirt and she kissed him, deciding that it was a pretty even call.

Wondering why he wasn't trying to undress her, she pulled back and noted with some amusement that his hands were still trapped inside the fastened cuffs of the shirt. Tugging on it helplessly, he asked with a smile, "Little help?"

A michievous smile flashed across her face, before being replaced by a look of pure innocence as she said, "I don't know... I don't think you really need your hands."

As if to prove her point, she moved to him and smoothly unfastened his belt with her unimpeded fingers, before catching the zipper of his pants between her nails and pulling it down with agonising slowness.

"Temperance..."

His strangled plea brought the mischievous smile back to her lips and she unbuttoned his pants, kneeling before him and manoeuvring them down his legs, before allowing him to step out of them and his socks at the same time. Her lips then traced the imaginary seam of the pants, leaving light kisses along the insides of his legs as he stood in front of her, hands immobilised and cock begging for attention.

Stopping just before she reached his boxers, Brennan pushed herself back to her feet and transferred her kiss to his lips as he groaned in frustration. Pulling apart, he said pleadingly, "Temperance, take the shirt off."

She shrugged, guiding him back to a sitting position on the bed. "If you say so."

Her fingers then moved to her own shirt, flicking the top buttons open with ease to expose a simple white bra that accentuated her ample cleavage. Booth's groan became louder. "I meant my shirt..."

The innocent look was back as she paused, shirt tantalisingly open and her creamy chest on display. "Oh. Do you want me to-"

"Never mind," he interrupted through gritted teeth, and she noted with satisfaction that her actions were having a sizeable effect on him. Slowly, she unfastened the rest of her buttons and let her white shirt drop to the floor as she stepped out of her shoes and walked towards him. She smiled as his eyes roamed over her chest, feeling the familiar throb between her thighs that accompanied his appreciative gaze.

Stopping between his legs, she hesitated purposefully, her fingers on the button of her jeans. Wanting to make sure that he was in this as much as she was, she asked with unnecessary concern, "Are you sure you want to do this? I know you've got a long day tomorrow..."

Despite the shirt sleeves, Booth's hands still managed to grab her hips as he said with a knowing smile, "Stop being such a tease and take your pants off."

The throb became harder and more insistent at his blunt words, and she quickly shed her jeans and socks, before returning to the position she had assumed on the kitchen table, her knees on the bed as she straddled her partner's hips, guiding his head back to the pillow. Booth's shirt-covered hands still rested awkwardly between them, so with one smooth motion, she pushed them above his head, forcing him onto his back, while she kissed him, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip as her other hand unhooked her bra.

Sitting up, she pulled it off, and saw that, even after six months together, Booth's eyes still lit up at the sight of her. Pulling on his shirt, he said, hopefully, "Temperance, I really need my hands here..."

She smiled. "I don't know. Your mouth would work just as well." To illustrate her point, she moved herself further up his body, eliciting a groan as her damp panties brushed across his toned torso. Positioning her breasts above his mouth, she reached up to remove his shirt, smiling as she felt him take her nipple between his lips. "I always did like your tongue, Seeley." His only response was an involuntary thrust upwards with his hips, and she smiled, working faster at undoing the cuffs of his shirt.

When he was finally free, she tossed the shirt off the bed and moved back down him, enjoying the friction of his body beneath her. Booth's unencumbered hands went first to his tie, loosening it quickly before moving to pull it off, but he was stopped as Temperance grabbed it firmly, wanting his attention elsewhere. "Leave it."

Not needing to be told twice, Booth found far more productive things to do with his hands, as he gently cupped her full breasts, rolling the dark nipples between his fingers and squeezing firmly as punishment for her earlier ministrations. She couldn't stop the gasp escaping her lips at this treatment, and as he repeated it, she reached behind her, hooking her fingers onto the waistband of his boxers and removing them. He arched upward as she did so, growling as his cock brushed torturously against her ass, and gasping, "Temperance, I don't think I can wait much longer. Are you-"

She interrupted, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "I've been ready for this since you left this morning."

Smiling at his groan, and wondering whether he'd be able to get through his training tomorrow with that thought in his mind, she slid her panties down and off her legs, before returning to her position astride his hips and slowly lowering herself down onto him. Twin moans emanated from their throats at the sensation, and he gripped her hips as she began to rock above him, hitting the correct spot with each movement. As the pleasure built inside her, she could feel the stress of the day being pushed down and eroded, leaving nothing but her and Booth.

He thrust to meet her, his breathing as shallow as hers as her motion uncontrollably quickened. Knowing that she was close, she reached down, bringing him onto his elbows by pulling on the tie around his neck and leaning down to meet him in a kiss. The extra pressure created by the movement was enough, and she dug her fingers into his hair as she gasped against his mouth, "Oh, god, Seeley..." The sensation crashed over her like a wave, sweeping away all the worries and stress of the day, and as Booth tipped his head back, his body stiffening below her, she knew that the release had been achieved by both of them.

Spent, her supporting arm gave out, and she collapsed on top of him, both of them breathing heavily. His arms came up to cradle her, and she instinctively moved off him, laying by his side with her head resting on his shoulder. As they rested, waiting for their breathing to even out again, she felt Booth's fingers playing with her hair, and she smiled at the feeling of comfortable intimacy that so often accompanied his touch. Her own fingers stroked his tie, flicking the end of the shimmering blue material playfully.

Seeing what was keeping her so amused, Booth said, teasingly, "You got a little tie fetish there, Bones?" She raised her eyebrows and he said, with mock defensiveness, "Hey, some people might get turned on by ties."

She smirked. _I'm turned on by you lying naked in bed wearing_ just _a tie. There's a big difference._ Deciding to make her point through example, she loosened the knot of the tie, saying, "Well, you're the one who wears them all the time." A playful smile appeared on her lips. "How do I know you're not the one with the tie fetish?"

Booth chuckled. "It's a tie, Bones. Not exactly the most arousing item of clothing."

Shrugging, she slid the tie off his head and over her own, letting it fall between her bare breasts and looking at him with a challenge in her eyes. She was gratified to see that it had evidently had the same effect on him as it had on her, as his eyes darkened with arousal upon seeing her. Rolling fully onto her back as an invitation, she smiled as Booth leaned over her, planting soft kisses along her neck and collarbone while his hand ran along her side, his fingers brushing the smooth curve of her breast.

Tilting her head to allow him better access, she asked sweetly, almost proud of the effect she'd had on him, "What time's your training session tomorrow?"

Booth's lips left her neck, instead coming up to hover over her mouth as he replied with a knowing gleam in his eyes, "What training session?"

* * *

_Thoughts? Opinions? Improvements? Favorite parts? (Not in that way; get your mind out of the gutter.) Click the button and tell me all._


	16. You're Canny In Deed

_A/N: I've had a crappy few days and so am resorting to Christmas fluff a month early, because I don't get Turkey Day as a handy late November pick-me-up. I just get rain._

_Rated K and stuffed with enough clichés to fill an elephant's Christmas stocking. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Yes, you're canny in deed and in name...**

As a child, Angela Montenegro's favorite game was Mouse Trap.

This wasn't due to some strange fascination for imprisoning colored plastic rodents in cages, but rather because she loved the devious complexity involved in the catching of the mouse. All the pieces of the trap had to be assembled in the correct order, and then through one tiny movement, the whole glorious mechanism sprang to life, coming together to achieve the desired goal. Namely, trapping the mice.

However, as she strolled round the inaugural Jeffersonian Christmas fair, she had much bigger things to trap than a mouse.

After watching her best friend and her partner dance around the issue of romance for over two years, Angela had decided to take action. She'd tried cajoling Brennan, pointing out that Booth was single, available, and pretty damn hot, but to no avail. She'd left the two of them alone at every opportunity, but so far they had made as many moves as a narcoleptic sloth. Hell, she'd even helped to organise the Jeffersonian Halloween party, in the hopes that seeing his partner dressed in little more than a corset, boots and panties would inspire Booth to cross that infuriating line, but they'd still avoided the inevitable.

But no more. She'd had enough of amateur schemes and subtle ploys; it was time to bring out the big guns.

Glancing around the bustling lawns of the Jeffersonian, she smiled to herself, mentally recalling all the parts of her grand plan and feeling a sense of satisfaction at her endeavor. Much like Mouse Trap, all the pieces were in place, and when Booth and Brennan had arrived, the carefully thought out trap had come into action.

Standing between a candy cane and a carrot-munching donkey, she surveyed the fruits of her labor, recalling the ease with which the first two phases had been accomplished.

_Phase 1: Have a friendly discussion with Mary Thompson, senior receptionist and working mother known for her vocal opinions on the lack of childcare provision at the Jeffersonian. Coincidentally, stage this discussion outside the pathology lab, and ensure the words "Christmas", "family time", "lack of understanding" and "official complaint" are mentioned as Dr Saroyan walks past. _

_Phase 2: Wait for Dr Saroyan to approach the board. Wait for the board to ask Hodgins to fund a Jeffersonian family Christmas fair. Offer to help out with the arranging of said fair. Gain full control of the planning team. Suppress a "Mwahaha" of victory._

Angela looked around with a smile, seeing that her planning had obviously paid off and that parents, children and other attendees seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the afternoon fair. There was a light sprinkling of artificial snow on the ground and trees, and stalls littered the the gardens, offering the chance to feed the donkey, have your fortune told by the Ghost of Christmas Future, decorate gingerbread men and other such family-oriented activities. Her smile widened as she saw a small blond child leap off the bouncy castle to rejoin his father, before the pair of them walked across the lawn, contented grins on both their faces.

"Daddy, can I go on again?" Parker asked with excitement, still bouncing despite the lack of castle.

Booth looked down at his son, saying teasingly, "You said you wanted to get off a minute ago."

Parker nodded, evidently not seeing the problem. "Yeah, because my tummy felt all icky, but now it doesn't, and I want to go back on." He looked up at his father hopefully. "Please?"

Fully aware that the consumption of three and a half heavily-iced gingerbread people did not go well with repeated bouncing, Booth looked around for a better alternative. "How about you go back on the bouncy castle after we've been to that stall over there?"

He hoisted his son into his arms and pointed to an as yet unvisited stall on the opposite side of the garden, offering people the chance to dress up like shepherds, angels and other figures from the Nativity. One glance at the tinsel halos and Parker was sold. "I want to be an angel, Daddy." Taking that as a yes, Booth made his way through the crowds while his son contemplated the alternative. "Or a wise man, because they get to wear a crown and have Frankenstein."

"Frankincense, bub," Booth corrected with a grin. The boy looked at him, puzzled, and he explained, "It's like a perfume. It smells nice."

"Oh." He thought for a moment, weighing up the exchange of a big green monster for perfume, before concluding, "I don't want to be a wise man any more."

Reaching the stall, the agent deposited the child on the straw-covered ground and peered in the hamper of clothes. "So, an angel, right Park?" He rummaged briefly through the hamper, retrieving a pair of glittery wings and a circle of gold tinsel, before turning back to his son and barely containing a snort of laughter.

"I'm a shepherd!" Parker announced triumphantly, having come to this conclusion by placing a checkered towel over his head and balancing a toy sheep on his shoulder in the way a pirate would carry a parrot.

Chuckling, Booth crouched in front of him, dropping the angel wings and halo by his feet as he rearranged the towel so that the child could at least see. "That's better." He looked at his son's face, pinching his nose teasingly, "Hmm, maybe not."

"Daddy..." Parker chided, laughing, and Booth busied himself with fastening a band around the boy's head to hold the towel in place. Done, he turned his attention to Dolly.

"I don't think shepherds carry sheep on their shoulders, kiddo."

He pouted. "But I want to." Inspiration dawned. "Can I be a magic shepherd?"

Unable to say no to any idea, no matter how ridiculous, when it was accompanied by his son's delighted grin, Booth nodded in resignation. "Alright. You can be Old McParker, the sheep-carrying, magic shepherd."

"Old McParker?"

Both father and son looked up to see Brennan standing over them, an amused if slightly perplexed smirk on her face.

_Phase 3: Ensure there is a dress-up stall. Brennan will be drawn to it like a moth to an anthropologically interesting flame. Booth's son will also be drawn to it, because he is five and easily entertained._

"Bones!" Booth was on his feet in a flash, a grin spreading across his face. "Wow, I, uh, I didn't think this would be your sort of thing."

"It's fascinating," she answered with the utmost sincerity. "Taking a culturally significant motif such as the Nativity and watching how people interact with it in different ways is very revealing."

Old McParker yawned. Loudly.

Despite agreeing with his son's reaction, manners came first and Booth squeezed his son's shoulder, saying warningly, "Parker..."

"Sorry," the boy replied sheepishly, before turning his attention, somewhat ironically, back to the sheep on his shoulder.

Booth, however, had more important things to turn his attention to. "So how come you're not dressed up, Bones? Shouldn't you be "immersing yourself in the culture" and all that?"

She shrugged, missing his sarcasm. "I would, but apparently it's inappropriate to dress up as Mary, and there are a surprising lack of other female figures in the Nativity scene, which itself implies that in the Biblical view, the role of women is to be a mother, and little else."

Deciding that the spirit of Christmas did not cover getting into a heated religious debate with your partner in front of your son/mini-shepherd, Booth let it go, instead picking up the wings and tinsel from the ground and waving them temptingly. "You could always be an angel..."

"Actually, despite the feminine appearance given in paintings, the Archangel Gabriel was supposedly a male," Brennan said matter-of-factly, clearly proud of the knowledge she had gained during her stint as the dress-up stall's resident anthropologist. "Most Biblical angels were also male."

Booth sighed. "I'm not asking you to be a Biblical angel. I'm just giving you a pair of fairy wings." He gave her his most persuasive smile. "Come on... If you're going to be standing here all afternoon, you should really be in costume..."

Just as Brennan looked like she was wavering, Parker tugged sharply on his father's sleeve. "You have to dress up too, Daddy."

_Phase 4: Buy that child his body weight in candy if he actually persuades Booth and/or Brennan to wear a costume._

Booth closed his eyes, wishing his son had kept his ever-helpful mouth shut, but a grin spread across Brennan's face as she repeated, teasingly, "Yeah, _Daddy_. What are you going to wear?"

Sighing, Booth placed the gold tinsel-halo around his head and looked at his partner challengingly, "Happy now?"

Parker's giggle answered for her. However, her smugness was short lived as he pulled the fairy wings from his father's grip and held them up to her with a broad smile. "Your turn!"

Seeing the cocky smile playing on her partner's lips, Brennan reluctantly donned the wings, saying through gritted teeth, "Thank you Parker."

Oblivious to her insincerity, he beamed at her. "You're welcome."

Before either Booth or Brennan could reply, the loudspeakers in the garden crackled into life, and a deep, jolly voice sounded over the tannoy system.

_Phase 5: Announce the three-legged race when they are together. Use Zach as the announcer, because he does an eerily accurate Santa Claus impression._

"The adult three-legged race will be starting in three minutes next to the rosebushes. Children, don't forget to encourage your parents to enter, as the prize for winning will be a complete collection of Cybertron Transformers. Good luck to everyone, and have a Merry Christmas. Ho ho ho!"

_Phase 6: Warn Zach not to go overboard with the Santa impression. Be grateful that your boyfriend has the complete collection of Cybertron Transformers and was willing to donate them to a worthy cause. Be safe in the knowledge that no male, whether five or thirty-five, can resist the lure of Transformers._

"Daddy, please will you enter? Please, please, please..."

Temperance frowned in confusion, unsure of what had caused the previous tranquil child to suddenly start jumping up and down in excitement. "What are Transformers?"

Upon hearing the words, Parker turned to her, launching into a mostly incomprehensible explanation, "They're robots who look like normal things, but then you use the Cyber-key and they become real robots and have guns and shoot things. And the Autobots always win but sometimes the Decepticons get real strong and have really big robots, because Megatron is really bad. But then the Mini-Cons-"

"They're toys that change shape," Booth interrupted, recognising the look of total bafflement that he knew he so often wore in the lab. "Parker likes them."

"Me and Daddy play with them whenever I go to his house," Parker announced happily and Brennan raised her eyebrows.

Feeling slightly panicked, Booth defended himself, "Hey, they're not mine. They just live in the toy box at my house because his mom doesn't know how they work." Seeing the skeptical look on her face, he quickly changed the subject, turning to face his son. "Sorry, buddy, but I can't enter. You need two people for a three legged race, because I've only got two legs."

"Dr Brennan has legs," Parker astutely noted, before adding in the world's loudest whisper, "Ask if you can use hers."

Booth gaped for a moment, unsure what to say to his partner or son that would mean a happy resolution to this situation. Seeing this, Parker decided to do the job himself, "Dr Brennan, will you be in the race with my Daddy?"

_Phase 7: Trust in the fact that the persuasiveness of an adorable child can overcome all forms of public embarrassment and personal intimacy issues. Even for Brennan. _

"I, um, I-" He looked up at her, eyes wide and lower lip beginning to tremble. The word left her mouth before she could stop it. "Okay."

Parker cheered, and grabbed both adults by the hand, leading them out of the dress-up stall and to the start line, still decked out in wings, tinsel and a kitchen towel. The sheep, however, had bitten the dust during the earlier Transformers excitement.

_Phase 8: Place the start line near the dress-up stall. That way, neither of them have time to change their mind. Also, enlist Jim Unwin, aka Scoutmaster Jim, to help with the three legged race preparations._

Upon reaching the start line, Booth and Brennan were both slightly surprised to find a man binding their ankles tightly together without any warning. The anthropologist winced as the blue rope dug into her right ankle, and the man, presumably Scoutmaster Jim, gave an apologetic grin, "Sorry about that, Dr Brennan. Just got to make sure these are nice and tight. Can't have any cheating, you know."

Booth looked down at the rope with concern. "How are we supposed to get this off afterwards?"

Jim smiled, putting the finish touches to the binding. "I've yet to tie a knot that I can't undo." He stood up again, saying cheerfully, "I'll be round at the finish line to help you."

_Phase 9: Ensure that he isn't._

As quickly as he had come, Scoutmaster Jim departed, leaving a tinselled Booth and winged Brennan standing at the start line, next to a host of somewhat less decorated parents. Turning to Parker, Booth instructed with a smile, "Go and wait for us by the finish line, okay, bub? Stay by the red post and I'll come get you when this is over."

Parker nodded, the towel sliding over his eyes as he said enthusiastically, "Good luck, Daddy! Good luck, Dr Brennan!"

As he ran off, with the hair and gait of an excited cocker spaniel, Booth turned to Brennan, speaking guiltily, "Sorry about this, Bones. He shouldn't have asked you to do this; it was unfair."

To his surprise, she smiled and said with a shrug, "Well, his dad already made me wear fairy wings, so I guess I know where he gets his demanding streak from."

Booth raised his eyebrows, saying with mock insult, "Are you saying I'm a bad role model?"

"Yes," she replied teasingly, her smile widening.

He chuckled. "You know, I would kick your ass in this race for saying that, but since we're tied together, it's going to be kind of difficult."

She looked up at him with a knowing smile. "So let's kick everyone else's ass."

_Phase 10: Watch the two most competitive people in the world win the three legged race. Keep fingers crossed that they don't inflicted any injuries on other competitors as they do it._

Before Booth could reply, the starting (jingle) bell rang and the throng of parents surged forward, stumbling and laughing as they went. Booth and Brennan found their stride quite quickly, with him learning to keep his paces shorter to match hers while she soon worked out how fast he walked and was able to follow. They were soon at the head of the pack, and even managed to quicken their pace to a light, if wobbly, jog, moving along the makeshift track with their arms around each other for support and balance.

Parker's cheering could be heard as they approached the finish line, and when they crossed it in first place, the boy came barrelling into them, hugging their legs as he yelled happily, "You won! You won!"

Mildly out of breath, Booth ruffled his hair affectionately and said with a teasing tone, "What, did you doubt your old man?"

"Nuh-uh." The boy shook his head vehemently, looking up at his dad with a proud grin. "I knew you'd win."

Booth was about to tease him further, when Zach's best Santa voice resounded from the speakers again.

"Santa Claus will be at his Grotto in five minutes. Come and hear him read a Christmas story and then, if you've been good, you can tell him what you want in your stocking this year. Ho ho ho!"

_Phase 11: Remind Zach of the perils of hammy acting. Follow the race with the appearance of Santa (not Zach this time) in order to distract Parker so that the adults can celebrate victory, Christmas or whatever the hell else they want, by kissing._

"Daddy-"

Pre-empting the question, Booth said with a smile, "Yes, Parker, you can go see Santa. Go sit in the Grotto and I'll be right there when Dr Brennan and I get untied. We'll pick up the Transformers on the way out."

"Thank you, Daddy." Parker gave him a final thigh hug before racing off through the crowds towards the bright lights of Santa's Grotto, trying to think of something he could possibly want for Christmas now that his dad had already got him the Transformers.

Booth watched him go, before turning back to Brennan and adjusting his wonky halo as he spoke, "So where did the rope guy go?"

Temperance looked round, answering absently, "I think I saw him go towards the egg-nog stall..." She trailed off as realisation dawned on her. "Oh." Scrutinising the blue rope, she concluded, "I don't think we can break it without a knife, but I might be able to undo the knot."

Having more faith in her nimble fingers than in his larger ones, Booth stepped back, giving her better access to the rope as he said, "Go for it, Bones."

Crouching, somewhat unsteadily, by the knot, she pulled experimentally on different bits of the rope, but all of them seemed to make the knot tighter rather than looser. After almost a minute of tugging and two broken nails, she stood up again, deciding to try a different tactic.

"Maybe if I..."

She held on to Booth's arms as she spoke, and slipped her shoe off, before trying to slide her foot out from the bindings. She managed to rotate it, so that it was pointing in the opposite direction to Booth's, but any further moment seemed futile. Sighing, she returned to a firm standing position, saying in defeat, "We're stuck."

He smiled down at her with an optimistic shrug. "I could think of worse people to be tied to."

She looked back up at him in surprise, a small smile on her lips at his words. They both suddenly became very aware of their proximity, with their legs pressed together from the tie around their ankles, and their bodies only inches apart.

Meeting her eyes, Booth spoke, his tone grateful and sincere, "Thanks for doing this, Bones. It means a lot to Parker." He paused, as though uncertain about his next words, then added quietly, "And to me."

"You're welcome," she replied, equally quietly. "After all, isn't this what Christmas is supposed to be like? Family, and presents, and tinsel..." She reached up and playfully brushed the tinsel on his head, watching how it glittered in the dim winter sunlight.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, but I don't think three-legged races generally fall under the list of age-old Christmas traditions."

She looked up at him with genuine curiosity. "Well, what does?"

Running through years of happy memories, he listed slowly, "There's mince pies, egg-nog, Christmas trees, mistletoe..."

Brennan looked up as if in thought. "Hmm. We've both had a mince pie already today, so that's covered. We're surrounded by Christmas trees at the moment, so that just leaves mistletoe and egg-nog." She glanced round, while Booth's eyes remained fixed on her, almost not daring to hope where this was going.

Her gaze returned to him, and she said, softly, "There's egg-nog over there, but while we're here, maybe we should..."

"Take care of the mistletoe?" Booth replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, watching their breath mingling in the cold air as she whispered in reply, "It only seems fair."

Their eyes locked for a moment longer, before closing at the same time as their lips met. The kiss itself was chaste, merely a touching of lips, but it was enough. They both instinctively moved in closer to each other, Brennan's hands holding Booth's upper arms while his hands rested on her hips. As gently as it had started, the kiss ended, and they pulled apart, each feeling the warmth of the other's heavy breaths on their cheeks.

Unsure of what to say, Booth stammered, "Bones, that was..." He looked up briefly, searching for a word to describe the experience, but found something else entirely. Looking back at her, he said in surprise, "There's no mistletoe." His brow wrinkled in confusion. "But why- Why did you kiss me if there was no mistletoe?"

She smiled and said simply, "Because you didn't look for any."

Her happiness was contagious and a grin spread across Booth's face too, as he leaned in again, drawing her into another entirely mistletoe-free kiss.

_Phase 12: Squeal._

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_Reviews and opinions adored as always. _


	17. Tonight at Our Local Bar

_AA (Author Apology, not Alcoholics Anonymous): Sorry this is so late - I got writer's block on Sunday (apparently writing two new oneshots a week is hard - who'd have thought?) and then I've been insanely busy this week. I'm attributing the fact that this is no longer H/C to the writer's block, since I did try (five times) to write the intended H/C story, but it didn't work out. Sorry._

_This one's rated T and is not quite on the "three little pigs" level of craziness, but is pretty damn close._

* * *

**I'll see you tonight at our local bar...**

Seeley Booth's alarm clock went off with an cheerful beep at 7.30am.

It was silenced with a growl and a smack eight seconds later, but the damage had already been done. Being forced back to consciousness with the same amount of enthusiasm as a cat being forced into a bathtub for its weekly wash, Booth's brain began to throb slowly and painfully in protest. Giving a self-pitying groan, the agent burrowed his head in the pillow as his senses gradually came back to him, unfortunately accompanied by none of the memories of the previous night.

Shifting position, he smiled contentedly as he felt the familiar weight of his duvet covering his body, mentally congratulating himself for making it to his own bedroom and not collapsing on his son's bed, the couch or any other flat surface in his drunken desire for sleep. He opted not to open his eyes, preferring the blissful ignorance of darkness rather than the harsh reality of light, but the taste of whisky in the back of his throat and the unpleasantly furry texture of his tongue acted as a sufficient indicator of what he'd been doing the night before.

He relaxed into the bed again, intending to drift back off to sleep, when his drowsy nose suddenly picked up a strange, but incredibly familiar, scent.

Sniffing harder, Booth quickly ruled out himself and his son, who was at his mother's house and smelt more of whatever candy he'd recently snaffled rather than women's perfume. Instinctively, he ran through his list of Women Whose Perfume He'd Recognise When Hungover.

_Rebecca? Nope, too fruity. Cam? Nope, she wears something stronger. Bones?_

He sniffed again, debating, before reaching a conclusion. _No, she smells more stroke-able. Like she's all soft and fluffy and able to be petted. Which obviously, she isn't. In any way._

Directing his thoughts away from petting Temperance Brennan, he reconsidered the perfume. _Maybe it was an old girlfriend. Maybe I smelt it in a store once. Maybe a suspect was wearing it. _He sighed into his pillow. _Maybe I should just open my eyes and see where it's coming from._

Willing his stomach contents and his head to stay where they were, Booth rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to examine his room for the mystery smell. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains, before allowing them to drift across the sights in front of them. His gaze meandered leisurely across his dresser, wardrobe and bedroom door, before coming to rest on the owner of the sweet-scented perfume, who was lying beside him, sound asleep.

It took his sleep-filled mind a few seconds to register exactly who was lying naked in his bed.

_Oh God._

It took a further half second for him to scramble, panicked, off the bed, before falling to the floor with a loud thud and a pained yelp, followed by a whimper as his floaty head seemed to land later than the rest of him.

The thud-yelp-whimper combination served as an effective alarm clock for his companion, who yawned as she stretched her arms above her head tiredly, her voice husky with sleep, "Good morning."

Booth's eyes widened at the development, but his mouth was unable to produce noise since it was still hanging open in shock. Eventually, he managed to form words, and ventured, mildly terrified, "Good morning?"

It was like watching a car crash. He was unable to look away as the recognition that his wasn't the voice of her usual sleeping partner washed across Angela's face, and she turned, as if in slow motion, to face him. Their eyes locked for a moment, both sharing a horrified stare, before she copied his earlier reaction, and jumped out of the bed as though scalded, her yelp only marginally more high-pitched than Booth's.

However, unlike Booth, she was alert enough to not only realise she was naked but to take the covers with her as she stood, wrapping them messily around herself to preserve some dignity. Becoming aware that he too was as nature intended, he snatched a pillow off the bed, holding it in front of him as he stood, with at least one set of cheeks flushed in embarrassment and his head still pounding from the hangover.

_Please God, tell me that I didn't just sleep with Bones' best friend._

Unfortunately for Booth, God had apparently stuck up a sign reading "Back in 5", thus leaving him to get his answers from a more earthly source. Namely, Angela. Swallowing hard, he gave her a hopeful smile, asking "We didn't... y'know, did we?"

Her answer was not the confident assertion he was hoping for. She looked up at him, hair dishevelled and sheets clutched round her, as she replied uncertainly, "I don't think so... I mean, we were at the bar, and Bren and Jack were there, and we were drinking, and..." Her hand went to her mouth as her body seemed to recall the memory of drink also. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Before he could even say "The en-suite's that way", she'd dashed around the bed and out of the door, making a beeline for the toilet with one hand over her mouth and the other holding onto the bedsheets with steadfast determination.

After months of dealing with morning sickness with his ex, Booth now had a Pavlovian reaction when it came to vomiting women, and he automatically headed for the bathroom, to help with the hair-holding-up duties as well as providing the necessary reassuring back-stroking that apparently made nausea so much more bearable.

However, before he got half-way across the lounge, he froze as something far more worrying caught his eye.

Jack Hodgins lay sprawled on Booth's couch, producing a snore that sounded like donkeys mating. It wasn't his presence or his snoring that bothered Booth though, so much as the fact that the entomologist was wearing _his_ shirt, had _his_ tie fastened around his head, and had a liberal coating of baby pink lipstick on his mouth.

_God, no. Please, please, please let this not be what it looks like._

Hearing the sounds of Angela's alcohol coming back up, Booth felt his stomach flip too, although more from the fact that he had woken up to find himself sharing an apartment with a naked artist and her boyfriend who was wearing his clothes. Desperately trying to avoid the horrific conclusion that was dancing in front of his eyes, Booth backed away from both Hodgins and the bathroom, stunned into silence.

This silence didn't last long, as the flushing of the toilet caused Hodgins to awake with a grunt, rubbing his eyes before sitting up on the couch and looking sleepily around as his surroundings came into focus.

These surroundings happened to include a very naked Booth, and Hodgins blinked in confusion upon finding the agent standing in the middle of the lounge, covered only by a pillow. Finding his voice, he asked uncertainly, "Uh, dude?"

Before he could say any more, the bathroom door swung open and Angela wobbled out, her clothing matching Booth's squishy shield. Not seeing Hodgins, she addressed her former bed partner with an apologetic smile, "Booth, last night was, um..." She smiled, ruffling her hair slightly in embarrassment.

Hodgins' eyes widened, and he looked between the two of them in disbelief. Finally arriving at the fact that his girlfriend had slept, naked, in another man's bed, he dragged himself hurriedly to his feet, staggering towards Booth with fists raised, ready to defend Angela's honor. "You slept with her?!"

"Jack?" Angela exclaimed, registering Hodgins' presence for the first time.

Booth's face broke into a relieved smile at the entomologist's enraged question, and he asked in confirmation, "You didn't know?" Hodgins' scowl told him that he didn't, and he sighed, grateful to hear that he'd had no part in whatever bedroom activities may have gone on the previous night, "Oh, thank God."

This relief was not shared by Hodgins, who repeated incredulously, "Thank God?! You slept with my girlfriend!"

Before either Booth or Angela could question the veracity of that statement, Hodgins' fist swung up, impacting hard with the agent's jaw and sending him stumbling back against the wall.

"Jack!"

Getting very little reaction from Booth, Hodgins raised his fist again, slightly unsure of what to do since Booth was more concerned with holding his pillow in place rather than retaliating. Angela rushed over to him before he needed to make that decision, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from a dazed Booth, speaking quietly, "This isn't what it looks like, okay? I don't know what happened but I don't think we slept together."

"You don't think..." Hodgins took a deep breath, still angry at the situation, before elaborating fully, "Angela, you're both naked, you're in his apartment, you're wearing his sheets, he's got your lipstick all over his face..." He glanced back over at Booth, remembering what he'd seen after he punched him. "Hell, you've even written 'Mine' on his back in lipstick."

Booth looked at Angela. "You did what?"

Angela wrinkled her brow, confused. "I didn't..." Her eyes widened as realisation dawned. "Guys," she said worriedly, pointing to the lipstick on Booth's face, "That's not my color."

Thoroughly bemused, the two men exchanged suspicious looks, with Booth asking tentatively, "Then whose is it?"

"Mine."

All three of them turned upon hearing another tired voice from the kitchen, and were surprised to see Brennan emerging from what could only described as a small fort under Booth's kitchen table. Stretching, she wandered over to them, dressed in the relatively normal attire of a pair of Booth's sweatpants and a baggy tee reading 'World's Greatest Lover'. Apparently oblivious to all the other strange aspects of the circumstances, she walked up to Booth, inspecting his face closely as he covered himself more protectively with the pillow.

Satisfied, she nodded. "Yep, that's mine." Glancing over at Hodgins, she informed Angela, "That's yours."

Deeply embarrassed by the situation, Booth asked, with a hopeful smile, "Uh, Bones? Why have I got your lipstick on my face?"

"Because you were wearing my lipstick," she replied, conclusively. "It probably spread to your face when you were sleeping." She glanced down at his pillow, which was smeared with lipstick. "Yes, you can see the scatter pattern there."

"You were wearing lipstick?" Hodgins asked with a derisive snort, and Booth shot him a 'If I didn't need to hold this pillow over my crotch, you'd be so very dead' glare.

Inadvertently coming to her partner's aid, Brennan contributed, "You were wearing lipstick too, Hodgins."

His grin vanished. "What?"

She frowned at his surprise. "Don't you remember? After you'd dressed up as Benny and Bjorn, you wanted to be Madonna."

Neither man could respond to this, so it fell to Angela to question, "Benny and Bjorn? From ABBA? Okay, sweetie, how do you even know who they are?"

Brennan's frown was now directly at her best friend. "Because you told me last night." She scanned the sheepish-looking group. "Do none of you remember?" Their blank looks gave her an answer and she sighed. "Go put some clothes on and then I'll tell you what happened."

Not needing to be told twice, Booth, Hodgins and Angela scuttled off to retrieve what clothes they could. Angela found the majority of hers on the floor of the lounge and barricaded herself in the bathroom to change. Hodgins swapped Booth's shirt for his own, which had been wedged in the couch cushions during whatever happened the previous night, but was pleased to find that he was still in his own jeans. After shuffling into his bedroom, Booth gladly put on a pair of sweatpants, but left his shirt off as he inspected the writing on his back in the mirror.

Eventually, they congregated back in the lounge, sitting on Booth's couch and chair in nervous anticipation, eager but apprehensive to hear exactly how they had got in their present state. Brennan stood in the center like a teacher with a detention class, albeit a hungover and very confused class who couldn't remember why they were even in detention.

"So, what do you remember?" she asked curiously.

Taking it upon himself to speak, Booth began optimistically, "Well, we went out for a drink after work to celebrate finishing the case, and we met Angela and Hodgins at the bar."

"Because it was our nine-month anniversary," Angela contributed, nodding confidently. "And then we started drinking, and Hodgins and Booth were members of ABBA, and we came back here, and nothing inappropriate happened between me and Booth, and then we woke up this morning."

Brennan raised her eyebrows and Angela slumped on the couch with a sigh. "Okay, so I remember drinking in the bar."

Smirking, Temperance inquired, "Do you remember the singing?"

"There was singing?" Hodgins interjected, panicked. "Singing of what kind?"

"Loud, mostly," she replied, grinning at the memory. "I think you sang along to the Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin and the Apes."

"The Monkees, Bones," Booth corrected quickly.

She raised her eyebrows. "So you do remember?"

Receiving accusatory glares from his fellow amnesiacs, Booth shook his head defensively. "Just correcting, not recollecting."

Satisfied, Brennan continued, "Well, then they started playing some ABBA - I think it may have been a themed evening - and you two decided to dress up as Benny and Bjorn."

"When you say dress up..." Angela prompted, smiling at the thought and wishing she could remember.

"Hodgins borrowed Booth's shirt and put his tie around his head, and Booth wore Angela's scarf and his wifebeater," she informed them.

Booth gave Hodgins a wary glance, asking, "How come you took my shirt and tie? Why didn't I wear them?"

Having no idea what his thought processes were the previous evening, Jack looked helplessly at his boss, who explained for him, "Hodgins got dressed up first, so he'd already taken your shirt before you decided to do the same."

"Ha!" the entomologist exclaimed, with a triumphant tone not usually associated with someone who drunkenly dressed up as a member of ABBA. "You copied me!"

"Actually, you copied each other," Brennan interrupted again.

Angela grinned, drawing the obvious conclusion, and addressed Booth, "You dressed up as Madonna and Hodgins copied you."

Booth's face fell and he put his head in his hands, only looking up again when his partner clarified, "Technically, Ange, you dressed him up as Madonna and then I did the same with Hodgins."

Seeing Booth's glare, Angela gave him an apologetic shrug, "Hey, I bet you looked good in that lipstick."

Brennan added, "We decided that you would suit my color and that Hodgins would suit Angela's."

Hodgins looked up at her, his cheeks flushed as he said, "You know, it is customary to be embarrassed, or at least a little remorseful, the morning after you've painted lipstick on your friends' mouths."

She shrugged, but was not forthcoming with remorse. "I don't see any reason to be embarrassed. We were all consenting adults having a good time, and we all just happened to do things that aren't necessarily classed as normal behavior."

"Speaking of normal behavior," Booth said, curious about another part of the evening, "Why do I have 'Mine' written on my back in lipstick, followed by what looks like it used to be your signature?"

"Because I wanted to ride you," she answered simply.

Booth stared at her in silence, while Angela leaned in towards her boyfriend, whispering smugly, "You owe me ten bucks."

Temperance reconsidered her earlier statement. "Actually, we both wanted to ride you."

On hearing this announcement, Angela studiously avoided Hodgins' shocked gaze, while Booth suddenly missed the presence of the very concealing pillow. Trying very hard not to picture any of the mental images that sprang to mind at this thought, Booth stammered, "So, did you- I mean, the 'Mine' and the riding..."

She nodded openly. "I wrote my name on you, so that I could ride on your back to get home because my feet were sore. Angela tried to use Hodgins, but the height and weight ratio was incompatible."

A simultaneous "Hey!" came from the couple, whom Brennan had managed to offend equally by the description.

Mildly relieved to hear that the only position involved was piggy-back, Booth asked tentatively, "And we came back here because...?"

"It was nearest," Angela answered, fully aware of the drunken rule that the best house to crash at was inevitably the closest.

Nodding, Booth turned his attention back to Brennan. "How did these sleeping arrangements come about exactly?"

Both Hodgins and Angela leaned forward at the question, eager to hear the hopefully-non-sexual reasoning behind Angela and Booth ending up naked in bed together.

Brennan looked up, trying to remember the details before replying slowly and methodically, "Booth took his bed, because he lives here. He did offer to share, but I decided against it and Hodgins stated that apparently 'Men don't share beds'." She looked at the men in the room and, seeing them nod in agreement, made a mental note to add that to her list of male anthropological quirks.

"So Angela agreed to share the bed, because it looked comfortable, and Hodgins took the couch." She looked at the entomologist. "You did try to sleep in Parker's bed, but Booth threatened you and you changed your mind."

She finished with a conclusive nod, and Angela raised her hand. "Umm, sweetie? Why did you camp out under the kitchen table?"

Brennan glanced back over at her fort. "Apparently, I like to nest when intoxicated. Usually I do so with a large amount of pillows on the bed, but since I didn't have that, I guess I improvised."

It was Booth's turn to raise his hand. Shifting uncomfortably, he asked, "Uh, you wouldn't happen to maybe know why we were naked, would you, Bones?"

Unabashed by the blunt question, she answered, "Well, I can't speak for your usual habits, Booth, but I think Angela may have taken her clothes off in here and then climbed into your bed when you were already asleep."

Angela frowned. "Why would I take my clothes off in-" Her eyes moved to Hodgins. "Oh." She realised Brennan's proximity to the couch. "Oh!" Biting her lip, she said apologetically, "God, Bren, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Ange," Temperance said with a small smile. "My bed had walls."

Suitably humiliated, the artist looked at her boyfriend, whose face was a matching shade of lobster-red, and said, awkwardly, "Wow, um, we're just going to go home and, um, get cleaned up." They both got to their feet, eager to leave, as Angela continued with a smile, "So, yeah, thanks, Booth, for letting us stay here, and Bren, for the recap. We'll see you on Monday?"

"See you on Monday," Brennan replied absently as she checked her watch. The couple left hurriedly, and she moved over to the kitchen to retrieve her clothes from the floor, calling back to Booth, "I'm going to go too; my car's right down the street. I'll wash your clothes and return them next week."

Getting to his feet, Booth said quickly, "It's alright, Bones, you don't need to-"

"Of course I do," she answered with a smile. "I don't want to keep them. Besides," she added, looking down at the claim on the front of the tee, "I think this is kind of personal."

Possibly more embarrassed than when he was holding his pillow, Booth defended, "It was from some old buddies of mine." She stood, eyebrows raised, and he realised the implications of his statement. "Not like that! It was a joke, because, you see, with these women, and..."

He trailed off, knowing no good could possibly come of his explanation. Smirking, Temperance made her way past him to the front door, saying with a smile, "See you on Monday, Booth."

"See you, Bones," he replied with a half-hearted wave as she closed the door.

Left alone in the apartment, he glanced around, wishing he could remember what had happened and debating whether to be relieved or annoyed that Brennan could inform them of exactly what they'd done. Looking over at the kitchen table, he went to investigate, humoring the part of his mind that was still ten-years-old and enjoyed the building of forts.

He was remarkably impressed with the architectural skills of his inebriated partner. Kneeling down, he peered inside to see that she had made a comfortable-looking bed out of pillows and blankets, while using the cushions from his couch as walls on both sides. However, his inner child enjoyed destruction just as much as construction and he quickly pushed the cushions away, dragging the blankets out to return them to their rightful homes.

As he shook them out, he was surprised to see a pair of lacy red panties flutter to the floor. Picking them up with a smirk, he dropped them on the table to return later, faintly gratified to see that his partner's memory wasn't completely infallible.

Becoming irritated at the thought of her advantageous knowledge of the previous night, he shook the blankets harder, quickly learning that her retelling of events was not entirely comprehensive when his own pair of boxers dropped quietly to the ground beside him.

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_Reviews loved, cherished, cuddled, adored and petted (in an entirely platonic way.)_


	18. Wed Before Dawn

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and/or putting this fic on alerts; I hope you're all still enjoying it. Updates may be slightly sporadic over the coming weeks since I need some time off, so apologies for that in advance._

_Rated T. Just because. _

* * *

**We'll be wed before dawn...**

"You don't look like a Dominic."

Taking a sip of beer, Booth chuckled at her statement. "What, is there some anthropological 'Dominic' norm? Some set of characteristics that all Dominics must conform to?"

Curled up on her partner's couch, Brennan frowned in response. "No. Evolutionary traits are based on physical and social attributes, designed to aid survival. Name doesn't factor into those," she said slowly, like a high school science teacher talking to a particularly dim student.

Booth grinned. "It was a joke, Bones." Seeing her drop her eyes to her beer in embarrassment, he changed the subject, "So how come I don't look like a Dominic? Should I have asked the undercover ops guys to pick a better name?"

His partner considered this, and Booth briefly wondered what names were running through her head as she eyed him critically. Eventually she concluded, "I don't think I'd be comfortable calling you any other name. I mean, I'm so used to calling you Booth that nothing else seems to suit you."

He took another swig from the beer bottle before saying teasingly, "You do know my name is not actually Booth, right?"

Brennan's eyes widened, clearly wondering whether, like her parents, Booth had some deep dark secrets in his past. Seeing this fear flash across her face, he felt a pang of guilt, and reassured her quickly, "Seeley, Bones. My parents named me Seeley, remember?"

Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and he made a mental note to be more careful with his jokes. Studying him intently, she announced, "You don't look like a Seeley either."

"What? How can I not look like a Seeley? I _am_ a Seeley," he countered defensively, suddenly protective of his parents' interesting choice of Christian name.

She shrugged. "Just my opinion."

Scowling at her, he glanced back down at the file on his lap. "Well, whatever you think I look like, our names are Dominic and Margaret Langley for the next few weeks."

"But-"

"And it's non-negotiable," he continued, not wanting to hear her objections. "If you'd been nice to the guy who was in charge of the fake papers, maybe he wouldn't have given you such an old lady name, but you went and made fun of his hand spasms, so now you're stuck with it."

"I didn't make fun of him!" she protested with conviction. "All I said was that chronic masturbation is often a factor in hand spasms of that nature."

Suppressing a smirk, he pointed out, "Yes, but you said that very loudly and in front of the entire office. You're lucky Margaret was the worst he gave you."

Brennan took a sip of beer in a manner that could only be described as sulking but made no further complaint. Taking advantage of her silence, Booth moved on to more pressing business, "Okay, so the Bureau's picked out our names, got the house ready and got me a cover job in Dallas, but they decided to let us come up with our own backstory."

"Why?" she inquired, still bitter about the Margaret bombshell. "They decided everything else; can't they just create a backstory while they're at it?"

"Well, aside from the fact that we solve murders, Cullen recommended us for this assignment because he thinks we make a believable married couple," he said, flipping through the stack of papers he'd been given. "So they thought it would be better if we came up with our own story. You know, something that we can both agree on and that seems right for the way we interact with each each." Finding the paper he was looking for, he brandished it in triumph. "But they did give us questions to help us out."

Cheered up by the thought of a undercover-relationship pop quiz, Temperance sat upright, crossing her legs and looking at him expectantly as he read aloud, "Where did we first meet?"

"At a crime scene," she answered instantly and Booth rolled his eyes.

"Not "we" as in you and me, Bones. "We" as in Dominic and Margaret."

Her shoulders slumped slightly at having given the wrong answer, but she quickly regrouped, suggesting, "High school? We could say we were high school sweethearts?"

"You do know I'm older than you, right?" She stared at him, not seeing the problem. "When I was eighteen, you were thirteen?"

"Oh. Maybe we could say that you got held back? That you failed to graduate?"

"Five times?" he asked, insulted. "Jeez, Bones, nice to know what you think of me."

"Not _you_ you. Dominic you," she said with a cheerful smile.

"Just... no, okay, Bones? I'm supposed to be this intelligent guy with a high-flying job, not someone who failed to graduate five times."

"You come up with something then," she challenged, folding her arms across her chest.

Never one to prevent fiction from imitating reality, Booth suggested, "We were colleagues. We saw each other every day, and we became friends, and then started going out. And then, you know, we got married."

He shot her a persuasive smile as she rolled her eyes. Crucially, however, she didn't reject the idea, and he moved on to the next question. "Where did we go on our first date?"

"My first boyfriend took me to see the college performance of Romeo and Juliet," she informed him brightly, before adding with less enthusiasm, "It wasn't a very plausible story. There is no chemical that can replicate death to that extent without having serious side-effects."

Dragging the conversation back on topic, Booth interrupted, "As much as I'd love to hear about the scientific inaccuracies of Romeo and Juliet, I meant where did we, as a fictional couple, go on _our_ first date?"

"We went to see Romeo and Juliet," Brennan answered, refusing to show that she had misunderstood the question. "Only it was a proper play, not a college production."

Booth wrote notes on his sheet, before asking, "And when was our first kiss?"

"After our first date."

"Okay..." He scribbled more notes. "And the first time we slept together?"

"After our first date."

"Okay..." His mind finally caught up to his mouth. "What? No!"

"What, you didn't want to sleep with me after our first date?"

Looking like the proverbial rabbit in the headlights, Booth stammered, "Yes? I mean, no, no, I- we- it's just-" Taking a deep breath, he tried again, with the same courage as the rabbit turning to stare down the approaching truck, "I'm just not the kind of guy who'd try to get you into bed on the first date."

She put her hands on her hips, before effectively flooring the gas and mowing down rabbit-Booth, "But _I_'d try to get _you_ into bed on the first date?"

He gaped at her. "Bones, I didn't mean..." Deep breath. Regathering of masculine confidence. "Look, regardless of our own preferences for sex on the first date, I don't think Dominic and Margaret would sleep together straight away."

"Roxie and Tony would have," Brennan pointed out with a slight smirk.

The smirk was contagious and Booth relaxed a little as he replied, "Yeah, but for Roxie and Tony, sleeping together probably _was_ their first date. I think Dominic and Margaret might be a little more restrained."

"Fine," she relented. "Third date."

"One month anniversary."

"Fifth date."

"Three week anniversary."

"Sixth date, which also happened to be two weeks after the first date."

"Deal," Booth said with a grin, before glancing down at his sheet again. "When did we move in together?"

Brennan frowned. "Don't we need to get our story straight about our first time?"

Swallowing suddenly became very difficult. "What?"

"Well, shouldn't we decide when it happened, where we were, how good it was and that type of thing?"

"Bones, we are going undercover in a tiny suburban community. We are not going to be Spanish Inquisitioned about our first time together," he said firmly, hoping that he would not have to share any fantasies about just how good their first time together would be.

She still did not look satisfied. "But what if someone asks?"

"They're housewives, Bones, not Angela." Gripping the conversational rudder, Booth steered with all his might as he asked again, "When did we move in together?"

"You moved into my apartment after eight months of dating," she said with a surprising amount of confidence for someone making it up as she went along.

Against his better judgement, Booth walked straight into another argument. "Why did I move into your place?"

"Because it's nicer than yours," she answered matter-of-factly.

Agreeing that her apartment was nicer than his, but unwilling to admit it, he countered adroitly, "What about Parker? He couldn't come stay with me at your apartment and there's no way I would give up my son. You moved into my place."

Temperance wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Do we have any children?" Booth looked at her blankly and she elaborated, "I didn't think Dominic and Margaret had children. Unless you're bringing Parker undercover with us?"

"Of course I'm not bringing my son undercover in a murder investigation," he stated, offended by the thought.

"Then why is Parker a factor in our fictional history? If you and I were actually moving in together, which we're not, then obviously we'd buy a new place as neutral territory, but Dominic and Margaret wouldn't need to worry about children, and so could move into my apartment."

Thoroughly baffled by her use of pronouns and aliases, Booth just nodded helplessly, before moving on, "Next question: when did we get engaged, and how did I propose?"

Temperance thought for a moment, before saying, "Am I allowed to protest at the principle of engagement and the outdated institution of marriage?"

"Nope."

"Then we got engaged after living together for almost a year," she replied, giving him an open smile.

Satisfied with her answer, he prompted, "And how did I propose?"

The confused look was back. "Aren't you supposed to answer that question? You're the one who proposed to me."

Sighing, Booth put down his papers and looked at her, trying to envision a scenario in which he could propose to her without her running a mile or rendering him unable to have children. "I, uh, I took you out for a romantic dinner." She wrinkled her nose and he amended, "Not a dinner. We went for a walk in the woods, uh, and it rained. You took my jacket, and found the ring in my pocket, because you're nosy like that, and so I proposed."

"In the woods, in the rain and by accident?" Temperance asked skeptically.

He nodded, suddenly full of irrational fear that she wouldn't like his (imaginary) proposal. His anxieties quickly vanished as her mouth curved into a soft smile at the thought, and she said, absently, "I'd say "yes" to that." She realised what she'd said. "Uh, Margaret would. Say "yes" to Dominic, that is. Because she believes in marriage. And I don't."

Hiding his smirk, Booth continued, "And on the subject of marriage, when was the wedding? I'm thinking summer." She made a disapproving noise. "Or spring?" Disapproving noise. "Fall?"

"I actually imagined a winter wedding."

"Winter? But wouldn't it be kind of..." Non-traditional. Close to Christmas. Out of season. "Cold?"

Brennan raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Cold? You wouldn't let me have a wedding in winter because you would be cold?"

Desperate to salvage some manly pride, Booth argued, "It's not just the cold. It'd be rainy in winter, plus if it was close to Christmas, all our family and friends would be on vacation."

"What about early January?" she suggested, her eyes taking on a wistful gleam as she described, "It wouldn't be too rainy at that time of year, and it might even snow on our wedding day. And if we held it after New Year's Day, we could have all our family and friends there too."

Booth couldn't stop a dreamy smile spreading across his own face at the picture she painted, and he said quietly, "That would be amazing." Again, realisation dawned. "Um, would _have_ been amazing. For Dominic and Margaret."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Good."

Clearing his throat, Booth checked his list again. "So we've covered our first date, our first kiss, moving in together, getting engaged and getting married. The only other thing is children."

"I don't want children," Brennan stated decisively.

He gave her a patient smile. "I know you don't, Bones, and I'm not about to give you any. What I meant was that Dominic and Margaret obviously aren't going to have children, and in a neighborhood like the one we're going to, that'll be unusual. What's our reason for not having kids?"

"I don't want them," she repeated.

"Yeah, but you're not going to fit in very well with the rest of the women if you say that." He tapped his pencil against his leg as he thought. "How about saying that we were waiting to have children until we moved to a new house, but now that we're there, we're trying for kids?"

She blinked. "So you're trying to get me pregnant?"

"It's kind of a joint effort, Bones."

Considering this idea, she acquiesced, "I guess I'm okay with us trying for a baby. As long as I don't actually have to have a baby."

"It's a deal," he said with a grin, jotting down their decision on the sheet. "Well, that's all the questions the Bureau gave me. Anything else you want to cover?"

She shifted a bit in her seat but nodded firmly. Leaning back, Booth said, intrigued, "Fire away, Bones."

"Do you cook?"

"What?"

"Do you cook?" She mimed what could either have been flipping a pancake or playing tennis. Booth looked at her, bemused, and she explained, "We're going to be living together, and I just wanted to find out a bit about your habits. Of course, if you don't want to tell me..."

"No, no, it's fine," he answered quickly, amused by her need to know everything beforehand. "Yes, I cook, and breakfast waffles are my speciality."

"Do you brush your teeth before or after breakfast?"

"After," Booth said, grinning at the detail of her questions.

"Do you shower at night or in the mornings?"

"At night."

"Do you wear boxers or briefs?"

Surprised, he paused for a second, but seeing that she was sincere in her question, replied, "Normally boxers."

"Do you snore?"

"Only if I sleep on my back."

"Do you sleep on your back often?"

"Only if I've been drinking."

"Do you snuggle?"

"Snuggle?" he asked with a chuckle, but she shot him a stern glare and he responded involuntarily, "No, Ma'am."

It was her turn to smile, but she continued anyway, "Do you read in bed?"

"No."

"Do you leave the toilet seat up?"

"No."

"Do you prefer to be on top?"

"No." His mind finally processed the question and he corrected quickly, "I mean, yes."

Temperance murmured something that sounded like 'Pity' before fixing him with a satisfied smile. "I think that's everything."

Slightly dazed from the quick-fire round of the pop quiz, Booth got to his feet and headed to the phone, "Do you need me to call you a cab? You probably shouldn't be driving after those beers."

"Wouldn't it be best for us to sleep together?" she asked, with genuine helpfulness.

Booth subtly checked the alcohol content of the beer before inquiring with the few words he could muster, "You what?"

His partner got to her feet, her blue eyes wide and innocent as she said, "Think of it as a test run for the next few weeks."

"Test-run?" he repeated incredulously, the word 'test' making him wonder if he'd be graded on performance.

Apparently not sharing in his astonishment, Brennan explained further, "If we're living together for that long, it only makes sense for us to get used to each other now."

The ability to form words had now deserted Booth, and he stood, looking between his partner and his bedroom in utter confusion.

"Booth?" She eyed him with concern. "Look, if you're not happy sharing your bed with me then that's fine, but I just thought it would be useful for us to become adjusted to sleeping together before we go to Texas." She gave him a friendly smile. "We're adults, Booth. I'm sure we can sleep in the same bed without anything inappropriate happening."

On hearing this and realising her intention, Booth felt a strange combination of relief (that sleep in this context meant actual sleep) and disappointment (that nothing inappropriate would indeed be happening.) However, relief won out, and he returned the friendly smile. "No problem. I mean, we're going to have to sleep together for weeks, right? One more night won't make a difference." He gestured to the door behind her. "The bedroom's through there."

Picking up her bag, she headed into the bedroom, saying gratefully, "Thanks, Booth."

"No problem," he called back, not entirely sincerely, as he busied himself with throwing out the empty beer bottles while she changed.

Locking the door and flicking the lights off, he knocked tentatively on his bedroom door, thinking that maybe, just maybe, they could manage to get through the next few weeks without crossing the line and becoming lovers, or taking an argument too far and becoming attacker and attackee.

However, when he entered the bedroom, it soon became clear that they would end up on top of each other one way or another, as they both announced at the same time, "I sleep on the left side."

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_A review would make me, and the little button, very happy._


	19. One and the Same

_A/N: Umm, wow? I don't think I've ever had that many reviews before. For anything. Ever. Thank you very much to everyone who took the time to share their thoughts; I never knew the happiness of the little button was such a good motivating factor. :)_

_Unfortunately, I now feel like a horrible person when I say that, despite the very polite requests for more, I'm not planning on extending chaptory 18 to a full story. However, before you all shout at me, I promise to write another chaptory at some point (not now) about what happened during the night spent sharing a bed. Is that an okay compromise? Yes? Excellent._

_**This one is rated M **so please come back next time if you're underage or if you don't like smut. _

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**By morning we're one and the same...**

_A body at rest tends to stay at rest unless acted upon by a net external force._

Lying back on her partner's couch, Brennan let her eyes drift shut as she snuggled comfortably into the soft leather. She felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Booth arriving home from work only to find his girlfriend snoozing quietly on his sofa, but this was quickly quashed by the rationale that if he didn't want her to nap, he should either get home earlier or buy less sleep-conducive furniture.

As she rolled onto her back, her drowsy mind began to wander back to the conversation she'd had with him almost a year earlier, in which he'd been adamant that two people could become one during love-making. He'd disguised his intent with generalisations, but both of them were fully aware of exactly which couple he'd been talking about.

A slight feeling of discontent washed over her at the memory as she tried and failed to remember whether the prophesied merging of two into one had ever occurred during their four month relationship. Unable to recall the feeling of becoming one with Booth, she pushed the thought to the side, dismissing it as illogical and yet another example of her partner's lack of appreciation for the laws of nature.

Letting her arms rest across her stomach, Brennan sighed softly in annoyance as the thought re-emerged, apparently dissatisfied with being dragged from the depths of her mind and not being fully resolved. Frustrated, she racked her brain again, trying to think of something that would pacify the nagging thought. Yes, sex with Booth was amazing, mind-blowing, earth-shattering, and all the other descriptions so beloved of romance novels, but during the act, she was generally more focused on the coming aspect rather than the becoming.

Making a mental note to ask Booth whether there'd been any becoming on his part, she let herself relax again, curiosity now sated, and allowed the sofa to work its slumber-inducing magic.

_A body in uniform motion tends to stay in uniform motion unless acted upon by a net external force._

Meanwhile, Booth jogged up the stairs to his apartment, loosening his constricting work tie before checking his watch for confirmation that time had not somehow miraculously stopped and that he was still late in getting home from work. Hoping that Brennan wasn't feeling particularly cranky today, he unlocked the front door and entered, depositing his files on a nearby table before calling apologetically, "Bones, you here?"

No reply came. Since the present of a woman's coat and high heels indicated that she was indeed there, Booth tried again, "Look, Bones, I'm sorry I'm late but some jackass from Accounting found a problem with my expenses and I had to go explain that the stuff I broke in the Carter pursuit was a valid..."

He trailed off as he rounded the corner to the lounge, catching sight of his partner for the first time. A smile spread across his face as he saw her stretched out on his couch, her breathing slow and peaceful. He stood by the wall for a few moments, enthralled by the tiny details, such as the way she tucked her toes under his couch cushions for warmth, and the way she unconsciously twitched her nose as she slept, like a rabbit dreaming of a juicy carrot.

Brought out of his trance by a small contented sigh from his girlfriend, Booth slipped his shoes off before going to crouch beside her, gently brushing a few wayward locks out of her face. She stirred slightly but didn't open her eyes, and Booth's inner white knight couldn't resist the fairytale cliche that now seemed so appropriate.

_Electrical charge can neither be created nor destroyed._

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his hand gently cupping her cheek as he did so. He smiled into the kiss as he felt her shift slightly, her lips involuntarily parting at the familiar feeling of warmth that accompanied his touch. Knowing that she was definitely awake now, Booth deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue past her lips and savoring the flavor of her on his tastebuds while his hand slid into her loose hair, pulling her closer to him.

When they broke away from the kiss, Temperance felt him pull back and, despite keeping her eyes closed, she could almost see his dark eyes looking down at her curiously, sparkling with that gleam she knew was reserved for her alone. However, only the barest hint of a smile played on her lips as she kept her own eyes shut, maintaining the pretence of sleep.

She lay tense for a few moments, knowing that he was probably wondering whether very passionate sleep-kissing was possible. However, her confidence in Booth's abilities to read people was quickly reaffirmed as she heard him chuckle quietly, before leaning closer and whispering in a low, teasing voice, "Hmm, does Sleeping Beauty need a little more than a kiss to wake her up?"

His warm breath tickled her cheeks as he spoke, and she tried to control a shiver of anticipation. It clearly didn't work, and Booth laughed softly again before kissing her tenderly on the neck. One hand slid under her head, allowing him better access as he planted slow, searing kisses down to her collarbone, while his other rested on her ribcage, his fingertips tracing tiny circles on the fabric of her shirt. What felt like electric current pulsed through her body at his touch, and she let out a long breath in an attempt to make her body relax.

This attempt was short-lived as Booth's hand soon left her head, instead moving to flick the top buttons of her shirt open. A tiny gasp escaped her lips at the shock of the cool air on her previously covered chest, but this was superceded by a contented sigh, immediately warmed by her partner's seemingly omnipresent lips tracing an increasingly urgent path between her breasts. The warmth radiated from her lower body also, as his hand inched its way under her skirt, squeezing her thigh gently as it went.

_Heat generated by resistance increases over time._

Swallowing hard, Temperance let her arms drop to her sides, trying to maintain what little composure she had left while Booth's arms, lips and tongue continued to explore her body. Booth, for his part, seized the opportunity presented by her movement and deftly unfastened the rest of her shirt, the blue material lying strewn open on the dark leather of the sofa. His mouth moved to her flat stomach, his kisses leaving a shimmering trail from her bra to her belly button, and her hands clenched into fists, resisting the urge to grab his hair and tug him back up to her still-covered breasts.

She instantly regretted this desire when Booth did actually turn his attention to her breasts, cupping them firmly and stroking her nipples through the silky material. Still keeping her eyes closed, she writhed slightly beneath his hands, wanting the bra removed but being stubborn enough not to give in and tell him this.

As if reading her mind, he said, knowingly, "I always liked ones with front clasps."

Temperance began to mentally chastise herself for choosing to wear a bra with hooks at the back, but her attention was drawn elsewhere when Booth decided to improvise, unhooking the removable bra straps and pushing the obstruction down to leave her exposed to him.

With intentional slowness, he kissed the underside of her left breast, working round in a lazy spiral while his fingers did the same to the other. Feeling his proximity to her hardened nipples, Temperance bit back a scream of frustration as he continued on his languid path, purposefully refusing to give her the pressure she craved. His lips got closer, and her breathing hitched at the feel of his stubble against her sensitive areola, inwardly regretting her decision to allow him to torture her like this.

Meanwhile, his other hand had returned to its position on her thigh, his fingertips now brushing the edges of her panties, nudging teasingly at the elastic without slipping inside. The throbbing between her thighs intensified and she shifted again, trying to manoeuver herself under his fingers.

For once, he obliged, running two fingers in a slow zigzag down the front of her panties but, much to her annoyance, stopping short of the place where she needed him the most. Her breathing heavy, she arched herself against him, but still his mouth and fingers remained infuriatingly out of reach.

She heard him laugh slightly, barely audible above the blood rushing in her ears, but before she could react, he caressed her firmly through her panties, causing her eyes to fly open as she gasped, "Seeley..."

_If a force is applied to an object by motion, the object gains energy because the force is doing work._

Still hovering over her breasts, Booth looked up at her, speaking with a wicked smile, "Hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

She opened her mouth to respond to his teasing, but only produced a throaty moan as Booth lowered his lips to her nipple, sucking hard and running his teeth lightly over the nub. Urged on her his actions, Brennan dug her fingers into his short hair, tipping her head back as he stroked her again through the now damp material of her panties. Needing more, she pulled hard on his hair and his lips returned to hers, his tongue exploring her mouth as his fingers continued to rub against her most sensitive spot.

Not breaking the kiss, she bunched his shirt in her hands, rolling over slightly as she tried to pull him onto the couch on top of her. She succeeded to some extent, and Booth balanced with one leg between hers and one on the floor while her eager fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

Finally breaking away, Booth caught her hands with his, catching his breath at the same time, and nodded to the couch with a smile. "This doesn't work, Bones, remember?"

She sighed, frustrated, but fully aware that the last time they'd tried to have sex on Booth's couch, they'd fallen off mid-coitus and she'd landed on a deceptively painful dinosaur toy that Parker had left out. Looking up at her partner, she pouted playfully, "I told you to get a bigger couch."

Leaning over her again, Booth replied teasingly, "We can't all be wealthy authors, Bones." A mischievous glint came into his eyes and he held her sides firmly as he suggested, "I have got a very big floor though."

_For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction._

Without further explanation, he rolled sideways off the sofa, pulling her with him. However, Brennan's scientific mind kicked in again, and she rolled the opposite way, causing him to lose his grip on her and fall to the floor alone and with a grunt of pain.

Propping herself up on her elbow, she looked down at him with raised eyebrows. "The floor? Booth, your bedroom's right through there."

He sighed. "Does the word 'spontaneous' mean nothing to you?"

She looked slightly offended. "I was just thinking of the carpet burn. Remember last time?"

Booth nodded, recalling exactly how painful a two hour meeting had been with carpet burns on his ass. Nevertheless, he got to his feet, determined to find some sort of balance between spontaneity and a burn-free posterior. Inspiration struck, prompted in part by his desire for release from the confines of his suit pants, and he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, laying it on top of the carpet.

Brennan quirked an eyebrow, but said with a smile, "I don't think that's going to cover it, Booth."

Grinning, he replied, "I know that, Bones. Would you let me finish?"

"I wish you'd have let me," she muttered under her breath, but allowed him to continue anyway. A smile spread across her face as he stripped his shirt off, placing it on the floor next to his jacket.

Hands on his hips, he surveyed the make-shift bed, asking, "What do you think?"

Eyeing his still clothed lower half, she answered with mock innocence, "I don't know; I think my feet might need something underneath them."

Catching her drift, Booth gladly removed his pants and boxers, putting them next to his shirt while his partner watched in appreciation, eyes hazy with desire.

Deciding that she was wearing far too many clothes for his liking, he knelt beside the couch again, unzipping her skirt before sliding it and her panties off her legs as she commented, "You know, there was a story that Sir Walter Raleigh once put his cloak over a puddle of mud so that Queen Elizabeth I wouldn't have to step in it."

Having now divested her of her skirt, panties and stockings, Booth moved to ease her arms out of her shirt and responded with a grin, "Well, _Your Highness_, unless Sir Walt managed to make the Queen come three times in one night, I still win."

He pulled her into a kiss before she could argue about his overly-competitive nature, his hands sliding under her ass and lifting her off the couch. She let out a muffled shriek at being suddenly airborne, but all protests melted away as he lowered her to the floor, deftly unhooking her bra before laying her down on his clothes and returning to his earlier occupation.

"Oh, god..." Temperance gasped as he flicked his tongue across her nipple, rolling the other between his fingers and becoming even harder at the noises that escaped her lips. He propped himself up on his elbow, letting his fingers trail down her stomach before slipping inside her folds, only to find her wet and ready.

He circled her sensitised nub and she thrust towards him, whispering pleadingly, "Seeley..." Unwilling to make either of them wait any longer, Booth met her eyes, planting a final kiss on her breast before slowly setting himself inside her.

_Transforming one structure to another requires the input of energy to cross the energy barrier._

With other lovers it had sometimes been awkward. Limbs colliding, hands uncertain, minds discombobulated, all reinforcing the belief that some part of them didn't belong together like this, in this situation. With Booth, it seemed perfect.

Their legs fitted easily together, thighs touching and muscles tensing with every thrust, and they seemed to anticipate each other's arm movements, with Brennan's hand reaching down to Booth's ass while his fingers ran up her side, moulding to the curve of her breast, or stroking her cheek as he supported himself on his elbow.

Both moving at a slow, steady speed, Temperance tipped her head back as Booth's lips went to her exposed throat, kissing and nibbling her pale skin. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she was unable to pinpoint exactly where her partner's mouth was at any one time, as he covered her neck and chest in light, moist kisses. His hand found her wrist, pinning it to the floor beside her head as the pace increased slightly, and when she looked over, she could barely discern whose skin the dark tattoo marked, her vision clouded by the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body.

She felt him moving within her, and as the pressure built inside her, she couldn't distinguish between his thrusts into her and the bucking of her own hips to meet him, their movement seemingly that of a single, conjoined entity. As they both gave in to the explosion, their voices mingled in the air, with gasping, ragged cries of "Seeley" and "Temperance" reinforcing the physical union forged beneath the sound.

Breathing heavily, they slumped to the floor, Booth rolling off his partner to lie by her side on the rumpled clothes. Her head rested on his chest and she felt it rise and fall under her, matching the rhythm of her own breaths as though their bodies were slowly easing out of their shared state. Her mind slowly returned to her, regaining the ability to hear her own thoughts over the hammering of her heart.

Smiling, she glanced up at Booth, only to see him look back at her with his ever reassuring smile, and she noted with satisfaction that somehow, someway, they had become one together. Two objects had occupied the same space, the laws of physics had been broken, and she could silence the nagging thought that spoke of Booth and his empty promises.

She felt him plant a soft kiss on her head, and she moved up, trailing featherlight kisses up his chest before kissing him thoroughly on the lips, her breasts pressed against his chest as she lay across him. Feeling the kiss deepen, she smirked at the sensation of an unexpected movement against her thigh, and decided to test out one more physical law that evening.

_What goes up must come down._

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_Reviews will be welcomed with open arms. **Edit: Reviews are now working again, so please let me know what you thought. Thanks and apologies for the inconvenience.**_


	20. The Old Ones

_A/N: Okay, so remember at the end of last chaptory when I told you reviews would be welcomed with open arms? Well, ffn apparently disagreed. I know the site's had a few problems this week, so apologies to those whose reviews got eaten, but huge, gigantic thanks to all those who reviewed again or sent me a PM. If anyone else has the time or inclination to go back and (re)write their feedback on the last chapter, I'd be incredibly grateful; I didn't realise how dependent upon reviews I'd become until I got none. :)_

_This one's rated T and contains spoilers from The Woman in the Sand to The Knight on the Grid. Also, I know Cullen's been MIA for a while, but I'm too lazy to make up a new boss for Booth._

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**The old ones, they knew you, my love...**

For Seeley Booth, two of the most dreaded words of the English Language were 'performance review'.

He could deal with getting shot at by serial killers, working with a team of mostly incomprehensible squints and talking a six-year-old out of decorating his bedroom walls with his favorite green crayon, but those two words made him seriously consider feigning illness, death or pregnancy in order to avoid the yearly meeting with his boss.

Sitting on an uncomfortable chair outside Cullen's office, Booth felt the familiar sense of foreboding that had been with him throughout his many trips to the principal's office in high school. Playing nervously with his poker chip, he ran through a list of possible excuses in his head, fully aware that, when taken out of context, some of his actions over the past year could be seen to be questionable. Hell, even with all the context in the world, there was no way he could make shooting an innocent ice cream truck seem like a valid use of FBI ammunition.

"You can go in now, Agent Booth."

Jolted out of his anxious thoughts by the voice of his boss' secretary, Booth got quickly to his feet, throwing the woman a smile as he said briefly, "Thanks, Sally." The woman nodded in return and he walked over to the door, knocking once before entering.

"Sit down, Booth," Cullen instructed, not looking up from what Booth guessed was his file.

Swallowing hard, he took his seat and waiting for the older man to finish his examination of his record. Finally, Cullen dropped it to the desk, asking tiredly, "Where do I start, Booth?"

Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Booth dropped his eyes to the ground as Cullen continued, "When most agents have their annual review, I have to tell them to keep up with their paperwork, and to work on their success rate with cases. With some of the younger ones, I might have to warn them to stop stealing office equipment. However, you are the only one who needs me to tell them to shoot fewer clowns."

Hearing the man's voice become angrier at the end of his sentence, Booth cringed inwardly, hoping his clown-shooting tendencies would've been broached later in the review.

Taking a deep breath, the Deputy Director looked at the file, finding the necessary dates. "Your last review took place on November 2nd 2006, correct?"

"Yes, Sir," Booth replied automatically, quickly trying to work out exactly what would fall under the purview of this year's review.

"And I seem to remember telling you to keep a close eye on your partner, yes?"

Booth nodded, remembering the lengthy chastisement he'd received the year before concerning Brennan's kidnap and attempted murder by Agent Kenton, and wondering where his boss was going with this.

"So you decided to interpret that instruction as "Take your squint undercover with you in Las Vegas and almost get the both of you killed"?" he asked irritably, almost challenging the younger agent to deny it.

_Is there even a right answer to that question? _Booth thought, miserably, before attempting an answer. "I know it wasn't done properly, Sir, but Dr Brennan was..." _Gorgeous. Hot. Inclined to feel my ass when undercover. _"Very professional. We managed to solve the case without putting either of us in any immediate danger."

A smirk played on the corners of Cullen's mouth as he informed him, "You know I get copies of all my agents' medical reports for injuries sustained in the line of duty."

_Medical reports? Why would... Damn._

Apparently his thoughts showed on his face, and Cullen continued, "To put it bluntly, Booth, someone beat the crap out of you." He scanned the report, reading aloud, "Severe bruising, rib fractures, concussion..."

Not needing to hear the full details of just how badly he got his ass kicked before his partner helped out, he cut in, "There was no lasting damage, Sir, and the outcome of that fight helped us solve the case." Unable to stop himself, he added, "And I won that fight." _So there._

Cullen sighed. "Booth, I don't care if you beat the whole US Marine Corp, neither you nor your partner will engage in any other undercover operations without full training and preparation, understood?"

"Yes, Sir." _Unless, you know, an opportunity just happens to present itself._

"And that means under any circumstances. You do not get to play dress up just because an opportunity presents itself."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, somewhat deflated by his boss' apparent mind-reading abilities.

Satisfied, Cullen moved onto the next point. "After your return from Las Vegas, your partner and another squint were kidnapped and buried alive by the Gravedigger."

Booth felt his heart constrict at the mention of the case. He eyed the older man boldly, but couldn't stop the pleading thoughts from filling his mind. _Please, please don't tell me it was my fault. I know it was; I know I should've stopped her from being taken or got there sooner or done something more... I hear it from myself everyday. I don't need to hear it from you too._

Cullen met his eyes, and spoke quietly but firmly, "Make sure you work on catching the bastard."

Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Booth nodded, saying with conviction, "Trust me, I will."

Returning to the file, he moved reluctantly on to the next point, "Regarding your brief suspension, I feel we covered all necessary points when you were reinstated."

_Yep. I distinctly remember covering the fact that I was right and you were wrong, _Booth thought smugly, tempted to feign ignorance and make his boss admit, yet again, that he'd been wrong in firing him. However, thinking of what was inevitably to come, he decided it was best not to antagonise the man just yet.

This judgement was quickly proven to be sound, as Cullen then stated, "You dropped a serial killer off a balcony."

"Actually, he jumped," the agent corrected, trying not to make it sound like he'd disposed of Epps in the same way a child would dispose of a water bomb.

His boss didn't seem interested in the difference, clarifying, "Yes, he jumped, you caught him, then you dropped him." _Like a water bomb. _"You saw a psychiatrist because of it?"

_Damn you and your trick questions. _"Well, partly because of Epps, Sir."

Cullen looked up, eyebrows raised as he inquired, "Partly? What other reason was there?"

Knowing there was no way he could phrase this and come off sounding sane, Booth took the plunge. "I shot a clown speaker on an ice cream truck."

Recognition dawned for the Deputy Director and he leaned back in the chair with a sigh. "At least with stapler theft I know what to say." He looked at his agent. "I presume your shrink cleared you for active duty, so there's not much I can threaten you with..." Booth's relieved expression vanished as he finished, "But if you pull your gun on anything that isn't a suspect, a fleeing vehicle or a squint again, I will have your badge before you can say 'popsicle'."

Slightly offended by the ice cream jibe but happy that he still had permission to shoot the squints, Booth remained silent, trying to figure out what his boss would pick up on next. _Sully? No, I managed to avoid any murder charges there. Bones' book copycat murders? I can't see how that would be my fault. Knocking that karate guy of the balcony? Hopefully he's reached his balcony-dropping-quota for the day._

He didn't have to wait long for his answer as Cullen said incredulously, "Earlier this year you were captured and assaulted by Hugh Kennedy. Who has one leg."

Booth leapt in with a correction again, trying to salvage some of his ego, "Actually, Kennedy didn't do any assaulting, he just-"

"Were you or were you not knocked out and restrained by a one-legged old man?"

Ignoring his bruised and whimpering ego, Booth nodded, embarrassed. Cullen pursed his lips in annoyance. "This does not look good, Booth. To have one of my best agents incapacitated by Long John Silver..." He sighed. "And then you went and got yourself held hostage and assaulted by some morons from West Virginia."

Skipping over the possibility that someone could 'get themselves held hostage', Booth inwardly bristled at the second mention of the word 'assaulted'_. Assault is what you get charged with after a bar brawl. Getting tied to a chair, kicked, beaten and stabbed with a hot pointy screwdriver constitutes torture. And torture requires sympathy. Not a lecture on how I shouldn't_ _let_ _myself get stabbed with hot pointy things. _Biting his tongue, he offered up the only response he could think of, "Sorry, Sir."

Cullen's gaze visibly softened, and he said chidingly, "I don't want you to be sorry, Booth; I just don't want it happening again."

_Oh yeah, because I was so keen to go another round, _he thought sarcastically. _Gee, I wish I could get tortured for information every day. _Unable to voice these opinions to his boss, Booth settled for another nod and, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, another "Yes, Sir."

Scanning the file, Cullen leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he said simply, "You arrested Max Keenan."

Hoping to pre-empt his question, Booth defended, "Dr Brennan and I are still working together fine, despite my arrest of her father. We've discussed it briefly in therapy and there should be no issue when his case comes to trial..."

He trailed off as he heard Cullen chuckle. He eyed him quizzically and the older man spoke, "I'm not worried about the trial, Booth. That's what that kid shrink of yours is there to deal with. No, I'm talking about the footage that parking lot security sent me."

_Footage? What have I done in a parking lot? There was that time with Rebecca, but that was way before last year... Oh..._

"Where in the FBI guidelines does it say that it's acceptable practice to engage in a spurious fistfight with an elderly arrestee?"

_Right after the part about Deputy Directors taking a perverse pleasure in humiliating agents who are just trying to do the right thing by their partners' fugitive, murderous fathers, _he answered bitterly, but adapted his reply before speaking. "I didn't want the added medical complications of shooting him for resisting arrest."

His boss rolled his eyes before looking at him curiously. "You're what, thirty-eight, thirty-nine?"

_Thirty-nine?! _"Thirty-five, Sir."

Cullen nodded. "And Max Keenan is old enough to legitimately ask people to give up their seat on the bus for him. Do you see where I'm going with this, Booth?"

"Yes," he replied dejectedly, feeling like someone on the tracks seeing an oncoming train.

"Do you want to tell me what I'm going to say?"

_No. Stupid question. Why would anyone want to say that they got blindsided by someone twice their age? Unless maybe you were two and they were four. _"I should've taken him down a lot faster and easier than I did."

"Precisely," Cullen said severely. "This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not a provider of punchbags for geriatrics."

Booth desperately wanted to inquire if Cullen himself was young enough to refer to Max Keenan as a geriatric, but thought better of it. Instead he settled for something slightly more subtle. "So, I'm allowed to take down a suspect in a fight as long as they don't hit me back?"

"You got it," the senior agent answered with a slight smirk and Booth relaxed back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. Moving on, he said with a barely hidden smile, "Only a couple of incidents left now. Firstly, Halloween."

"What about Halloween?" Booth asked innocently, aware of what he was referring to.

"Well, you shot another clown, for starters, which leads me to repeat my earlier advice that you should really do that less often." Booth opened his mouth to protest but Cullen cut him off, "But I know this was a serial-killing clown who shot you in the stomach and in the leg, so I'll let off on this one."

"Actually-" '_Actually' what? The crazy clown didn't shoot me, but my irresponsible, gun wielding partner did? 'Cause that'll go down so well. _Realising the error of informing his boss that Brennan had shot someone else in the leg, Booth wisely kept his mouth shut.

"No, it's not the shooting I have a problem with. It's the message I received from dispatch telling me that you thought it'd be fun to go chasing killers in costume." Booth swallowed hard. "From what I hear, yours wasn't so bad, although why you'd choose to dress like a squint is beyond me, but being dressed as Wonder Woman does not make that partner of yours any more suited to the field. Quite the opposite in fact. If you want her to dress up for you in the lab, that's really not my business, but when you're on FBI duty, you go by the book."

Booth's mind didn't get past "dress up for you in the lab". Determined to get any thoughts of Temperance Brennan in revealing costumes out of his head, he corrected his boss, "Dr Brennan and I aren't together like that."

Cullen smiled wryly at him. "Oh, I know. There'd be a lot more yelling involved in this review if I thought you were."

Thanking heaven for small mercies, Booth looked attentively at Cullen, mentally singing, _And now the end is near..._

"According to your record, you and Dr Brennan were blown up in a taxi about a week ago."

The end suddenly seemed anything but near. Resignedly, the younger agent answered in the affirmative. "Yes. We were transporting some remains found in the Gormogon vault to-"

Ignoring his explanation, Cullen made his point succinctly. "In the last three years, you've been blown up by a fridge, a dead body and a bag left by your taxi. These explosions have happened at a rate of approximately one a year, and by some staggering coincidence, have all been committed by different parties. This leads me onto your targets for the next year, Booth. In addition to shooting no more clowns, and doing everything you can to catch the Gravedigger, your personal goal is to make it to the next review without being blown up in any way, shape or form, do you understand me?"

_That's it? That's my goal for the year? Why not just tell me to keep breathing for a whole year? Or to not jump out of any airplanes without a parachute? _The sarcastic, mocking part of his mind was soon silenced by the part that was grateful for the relatively easy task to complete before the next review. Seeing that Cullen was waiting for his final answer, he said for the last time, "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Receiving a dismissive nod, Booth got quickly to his feet and beat a hasty retreat, thankful that the excruciating, humiliating and awkward procedure was over for another twelve months.

Cullen watched him go with a smirk, before pulling out a Post-It and carrying out his usual post-review pastime. Thinking hard, he jotted down what he guessed would arise in the next year's review. Granted, Booth was more unpredictable than most of his agents, but he usually got a few things right. Scanning this year's file, he wrote quickly:

_Predictions for S. Booth - Will shoot either the cannibal or the Gravedigger. May shoot a squint. A squint may also return fire. Will get in a fight with a suspect but will probably win. Will take his partner undercover at every opportunity, against my express instructions. Will either be kidnapped or save someone from kidnappers (fifty-fifty chance as to which). _

Smiling, he added one final thing before closing the file for the year.

_Will definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely get blown up._

_

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_

Reviews will (hopefully) be gratefully received.


	21. Set You to Reason

_A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, especially since this is such a hectic time of year for most people. I'll do my best to keep the updates coming over the holidays, but some disruption is pretty much inevitable. _

_This chaptory comes courtesy of_ goldpiece _who gave me a challenge to do a therapy oneshot in which Sweets explores a very interesting feature of B&B's past relationships. The observations about B&B's former partners are all hers; I'm just here to do the writing. :) Rated T, and apologies for any inaccuracies with the psych stuff._

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**They set you to reason...**

To say Dr Lance Sweets was not easily scared would be a lie.

As a child, he'd been a firm believer in the boogeyman, to the extent that he'd refused to go to sleep without double and triple checking his closet and reciting the Boogeyman-Be-Gone chant that his despairing mother had concocted as a placebo. In his early teens, he had been strangely afraid of his neighbor's cat, although this may have been down to reading too much Edgar Allen Poe rather than any actual demonic behavior on the part of the cat. And finally, in college, he had sworn off ever watching anything on a video-cassette after a particularly traumatising late night viewing of The Ring.

However, as he sat in his office, facing his latest clients, he could safely say that Seeley Booth scared him more than all the others combined.

This was partly because, unlike the boogeyman and the creepy television-exiting girl, Booth wasn't imaginary, and partly because, unlike the cat from next door, he had a gun and opposable thumbs. The fact that the woman sitting next to the agent also happened to have a Karate Kid mentality and, by all accounts, a twitchy trigger finger did not help his anxiety any.

Swallowing hard, Sweets fixed a smile on his face as he looked between his clients, not particularly enthused about the topic he was intending to discuss with them in today's session. He knew that it was necessary, and possibly a watershed moment in their therapy, but that didn't make it any easier to raise to the already unwilling partners.

_Deep breaths. I spent years working on my doctorate. I am a fully trained psychologist. These questions will help them. I am good at my job, _he listed firmly, hoping for some self-validation. However, the most motivating factor was somewhat more practical, as he reminded himself, _Neither of them are allowed to bring weapons in here. I will not get shot, no matter what I ask._

Suitably reassured, he asked in what he hoped was his most relaxed and conversational tone, "So, Dr Brennan, Agent Booth, would you say that you two are sexually compatible?"

The question was met with silence and if he hadn't known better, he would've sworn the pair had been frozen, their faces displaying matching expressions of surprise, disbelief and horror as they stared at him mutely.

Before Sweets could marvel at his new-found ability to apparently freeze time, Brennan found her voice, and asked, insulted, "Excuse me?!"

_What the hell, I'll take that literally. _"Would you say that you two are sexually compatible?" he repeated, directing the question towards Brennan.

However, much like a anti-psychology tag-team, Booth answered for her, "Yeah, we heard you, Sweets." _Dr. Sweets, _he corrected mentally, but the agent, who was not telepathic and probably wouldn't have paid any attention if he was, continued, "What the hell kind of question is that? It's not relevant to our job, it's not important in our _working _relationship and it's definitely not something that we're about to discuss with you."

_Wrong, wrong, and wrong, _he thought, but instead attempted a more diplomatic reply, "Agent Booth-"

Diplomacy was steam-rollered when Booth interrupted, "No. I don't care what your little shrink books say; we are not discussing this. Now move on and fill the most pointless hour of my week with something that you're actually old enough to know about, or I'll have you reported to the Bureau's Psychiatric Standards Department."

Doubtful of whether such a department even existed, he countered, "You know, Agent Booth, retreating behind authority figures when threatened is a very child-like response, suggesting that the issue at hand is too large or too difficult for you to deal with."

Booth's mouth fell open, and the young man suddenly had visioned of the gunless agent improvising and throttling him instead. Wanting to use his vocal chords while he still could, he continued, "There's no need to be embarrassed about the question; anything said inside this room stays inside this room. Zone of trust, remember? You never have to mention it to each other again." Seeing that Brennan was softening, he asked again, "Dr Brennan, would you say that you and Agent Booth are sexually compatible?"

"Bones, you don't have to answer that," Booth said quickly as his partner eyed him appraisingly.

"Well, he's certainly a good breeder. Symmetric features, strong build, and what would be generally considered to be an attractive appearance," she contemplated.

"Of course, if you want to answer, feel free," he amended, obviously enjoying the compliments.

She pondered further. "Strong protective instincts, would be socially deemed as a good father, apparently successful with women..."

"Good kisser?" Sweets prompted, with all the subtlety of a marauding elephant in a pottery shop.

"What?" Booth protested, regarding the psychologist with suspicion.

The doctor's eyes widened and he held up his hands in defence. "It's to establish your connection, not because of any personal reasons," he explained, hurriedly. "I have a girlfriend."

"But if you didn't, you'd be interested in kissing Booth?" Brennan interpreted curiously, and both men looked at her, appalled. Registering this, she returned to the earlier question, "Objectively, I would say that Booth was a better than average kisser."

"Thanks, Bones."

"But I don't think that we'd be sexually compatible." Booth just looked surprised, and Sweets smirked inwardly, guessing that the agent had pictured just how sexually, physically and vocally compatible they'd be many times in his mind. Ever the scientist, Brennan gave her reasons for her theory, "We bicker too much to function as a couple. We have very little in common aside from our work, and so wouldn't work well together in a relationship."

Sweets "hmm"d in thought, before turning to her partner. "And you, Agent Booth?"

"I agree with Bones," he said firmly, still slightly offended by Brennan's verdict but deciding to present a unified front nonetheless. However, he couldn't resist putting the boot in a little. "She's bossy, and she always has to be right and to have the last word. Plus, she keeps bugging me about wanting a gun. Nope, definitely no sexual compatibleness there."

"Compatibility," Brennan corrected and Booth just gave the psychologist a "you-see-my-point" look.

Happy that the agent had taken the bait, Sweets glanced down at his notes. _Pretend like it's a coincidence, and that you weren't waiting for him to say that all along. _"Actually, Agent Booth, the fact that you have a problem with Dr Brennan's supposed bossiness differs from the information you provided in your questionnaire."

Pausing for dramatic effect, he then continued, "According to the information you gave on your past relationships, you seem to prefer to date alpha females, thus relegating yourself to beta male."

Not entirely sure what a 'beta male' was, other than possibly an improved postal system, Booth leaned over to Brennan who informed him, "Beta is the second letter of the Greek alphabet. Beta male would be the opposite to an alpha male."

Having been called an alpha male enough times to make him now quite attached to the description, Booth took offense to his sudden demotion, and made this abundantly clear to the therapist. "Hey, alpha, not beta. I'm definitely the alpha in relationships."

_Pretend to look at the file... _"Well, the information you gave disagrees with that theory. You dated a lawyer, correct?"

"Tessa," Brennan chipped in, not without a hint of jealousy in her voice.

Nodding, Sweets carried on, "Most lawyers are notoriously bossy and domineering individuals, stemming from the need to be in control in the courtroom. They also use manipulation occasionally as a means of reasserting their control, just as they would do with a jury."

As much as he hated to admit that a twelve-year-old was right, Booth clearly remembered Tessa all but blackmailing him into fulfilling a variety of her needs. Realising Sweets may have a point, he stayed quiet as the doctor moved on.

"And then you dated a woman who was apparently high up in the workplace."

"Dr Saroyan. She's my superior at the Jeffersonian," Brennan again contributed, slightly bitterly, while Booth winced a little at the memory.

Catching the wince, and guessing that there would have been some truly epic awkwardness when that became common knowledge, Sweets stated his now-firmed-up hypothesis, "Ah, so Dr Saroyan was in a higher position than you, suggesting a power distribution in her favor. Again, this would put her in the alpha female role and you in the beta male."

Still uncomfortable at being called a beta anything, Booth internally conceded that during his relationship with Cam, most of their nocturnal encounters had been dictated by her, to the extent that she'd frequently woken him at night to get him to come over to her place and help relieve some of the tension that had built up during the day.

The therapist quickly noticed that Booth was lost in his thoughts so pressed on to the final example he'd been given. "And finally, you said that the mother of your child also had a bossy streak, and can be very controlling when it comes to allowing you access to your son." The agent's expression darkened, and Sweets quickly amended, "Which is obviously a more legal problem than an emotional. But still, you said that she was argumentative and would yell at you a lot when you were together."

Booth nodded, remembering Rebecca's many tirades. "What's your point?"

"My point is that you obviously prefer to be in a relationship with dominant women, and so take on a submissive role yourself," he concluded, with an air of self-satisfaction.

"Submissive?" Booth repeated, incredulously.

Ever helpful, Brennan explained, "The opposite of dominant, meaning someone who is more naturally passive and lets others take control. Sometimes used in a sexual context to refer to someone who enjoys being-"

"Whoa!" he interrupted, not wanting to hear his partner's thoughts on what he enjoyed having done to him in bed. "I know what it means, Bones, and no, okay?" He fixed his attention back on Sweets. "Not submissive. Dominant, in control, alpha male, whatever you want to call it."

"But your past relationships-"

"Didn't work out, alright?" Booth stated firmly. "Sure, the... physical aspects were great at the time, but they didn't work out. Obviously, I need to be in a relationship where I can be in control," he finished with a somewhat surprised look on his face that his point actually seemed logical.

Foiled briefly, Sweets quickly regrouped. "So what you're saying is that the sexual part of your relationship worked well because you could take on the less dominant role there, but you need to be in control when it comes to the rest of a partnership."

Booth looked at him blankly, unsure whether to agree or to be insulted._ Shouting is only one letter away from shooting. Ergo, silence is good,_ the therapist reasoned before moving on. "As for you, Dr Brennan, you seem to be the opposite to Agent Booth, since you seek out beta males as partners, judging by the answers you gave me."

The agent perked up again, and asked with a chuckle, "Sully? He's a beta male?"

Sweets nodded. "According to your answers, Agent Sullivan was the typical beta male; happy to let other make decisions for him, impulsive, and lacks drive and solid foundations. The same applies to another boyfriend, who you said was a member of a cult?"

There was another snort of laughter from Booth, and the doctor tried to suppress his own smirk as Brennan replied testily, "Yes, David. I met him on the internet and we split up when he tried to recruit me."

"You sure can pick 'em, Bones," Booth said with a grin, and Sweets felt strangely relieved when Brennan's angry glare was directed at her partner rather than at him. _You might make it out alive, Lance._

"Cults find it easier to recruit those with weaker minds and less dominant personalities," he informed her, and she settled back into the seat, arms folded in annoyance while he continued, "And the final example you gave me was your professor from college."

"Dr Stires," she said, a small smile on her lips at the memory while a scowl appeared on her counterpart's face. "But he was definitely an alpha male. Higher position than me in college, greater knowledge..."

"Yeah, but you kicked his ass in the Costello trial, Bones," Booth chipped in with a proud grin. _She assaulted someone in court? _Sweets thought, panicked, and, seeing his expression, the agent corrected with a smirk, "Not literally, kid."

Mildly relieved to hear that his client had fewer psychotic tendencies than previously estimated, Sweets concluded, "Well, since you gained the position of power in that relationship, it's another example of your alpha female qualities, especially in choosing a relationship with a beta male. You presumably like to be in control, Dr Brennan; physically, emotionally and sexually."

On hearing this, Booth nearly choked as he took a sip of water. _Quick to leap to sexual daydreams or fantasies, _Sweets noted mentally, regarding the coughing agent with barely concealed amusement. Brennan, however, looked less amused, as though she was still trying to decide whether she would rather be described as bossy or passive.

_Speak now while they're quiet. Carpe quietness. _"This is why I asked you if you thought you were sexually compatible, since Dr Brennan assumes a dominant role in relationships, and you, Agent Booth, however subconsciously, take on a submissive role."

"Again, I ask you, how is this relevant?" Booth demanded, still rankled by the 'submissive' comment. "We're not sleeping together, and we're not in a relationship."

"Ah, but a partnership is like a relationship," Sweets declared, resisting all temptation to pull a Yoda and jiggle the word order a little. "I'm trying to establish what contributes to your individual romantic relationships to see if it applies to your partnership too."

"It doesn't," Brennan stated firmly. "As you say, I prefer to be in a relationship with beta males, and Booth is too overbearing and too much of an alpha male to be suitable."

Offended and slightly hurt, Booth began to argue too, "And, _as you say_, I want to have some control in a relationship-"

"But not sexually," Sweets clarified.

Glaring at him, Booth continued, "Sex doesn't matter here. I barely have any control in our partnership, since she's bossing me around all the time and complaining about the integrity of her remains-"

"Me? You're the one who never lets me have a gun, and who always wants to enter a suspect's house first-"

"Because I am an FBI agent, Bones! That's my job! I just don't want you to get hurt if-"

She looked over at Sweets triumphantly. "Alpha male!"

"Maybe that's why you're here," the doctor said quietly, and the bickering partners turned to look at him, expectantly. "You don't suit each other. You said you're not compatible, and you certainly don't fit with the patterns of each other's previous relationships. This could be why you're in counseling in the first place - you don't belong together as a team."

There was silence as Booth and Brennan seemed to realise what they'd argued themselves into, and neither met the other's gaze.

_Crap, say something, guys! Don't make me feel like I just stole candy from a baby. _

Eventually Brennan found her voice, saying uncertainly, "Maybe that's a good thing." He gestured for her to elaborate and she complied, "The relationship Booth and I have is different from what either of us have had before, but maybe that's good. Neither of us have a romantic partner currently, indicating that our previous relationships were unsuccessful, so what we have now could be considered a success. The roles of alpha and beta, which you seem to think are defined, are more fluid in our partnership, since each of us have control in different areas."

Seeing where she was going with this, Booth continued, "Yeah, Bones gets to be all alpha-y in the lab and with her bodies and I get to be in charge at the Bureau and at crime scenes."

Sweets nodded, pleased with this rationale, but apparently Brennan disagreed, as she objected, "You are not in charge at crime scenes."

Booth looked at her, confused. "Yes, I am"

"No, you're not. You just stand there and make notes!"

"And give instructions and issue orders."

"'Give instructions' and 'issue orders' mean the same thing," she informed him petulantly.

"Hey, I drive. I'm in charge," Booth stated, hoping his reasoning would hold up.

Unfortunately, the critical flaw was mercilessly exploited as Brennan pointed out, "That's your car, not the crime scene. Your authority ends when you turn off the engine."

Seeing that this could go on for a while, Sweets interrupted, "So the pair of you are dominant in different areas, essentially meaning that you are both alpha-beings and beta-beings at the same time. This does seem to cause a lot of conflict between you, though." _And by a lot of conflict, I mean more fighting than in the battle of Middle-Earth._

Booth shook his head. "It's not really conflict. I used to yell a lot more than this when I was with Rebecca."

"I don't yell," Brennan informed them both, and her partner nodded in agreement, looking at Sweets.

"She doesn't yell."

"We just bicker sometimes," the anthropologist conceded.

"Loudly."

She rounded on her partner, repeating, "I don't yell. It's not rational."

Booth shrugged, the grin on his face informing the psychologist that he knew exactly which buttons he was pressing, "I never said you did."

"But you implied that..."

Hearing the 'bickering' start up again, Sweets zoned out as he wrote notes in his file. _Good partnership. Each excels and is dominant in different areas, rather than one being totally in control at all times. Ideal for a working relationship. _He smiled as he pondered to himself, _Pretty good for a personal relationship too._

Now feeling more confidence and less fearful, since his obstinate clients had opened up and made what he considered to be a break-through in their relationship, Sweets decided to take advantage of the relaxed and friendly atmosphere. _They won't mind. It's just one more question. They won't know it's for a personal bet with Dr Jacobs across the hall, who saw them working together once and was interested. They'll just think it's part of the assessment. It's not unprofessional, just human curiosity._

Glancing at the empty holster on Booth's belt one more time, he reassured himself, _They're not so scary. They aren't armed, and once you get to know them, I'm sure they're nice people. Nice in a non-homicidal way. There's nothing to be afraid of._

The bickering reached a natural pause, and Sweets leaned forward, asking with what he hoped was casual interest, "So, have you ever found out which of you two would be in control in other circumstances?" _Keep it subtle, Lance. _"You know, in the diner, in a bar..." _Nice and smooth._ "In the bedroom..."

Apparently, subtlety was not one of his strengths and upon receiving what could only be described as death-glares from the partners, Sweets quickly developed a new phobia to add to his long and varied list of fears. Namely, being-alone-and-outnumbered-by-Seeley-Booth-and-Temperance-Brennan-when-you've-just-tried-to-discover-inappropriate-details-about-their-sex-life-aphobia.

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_Reviews much loved. I'll try and get one more story up before Christmas, but__ "Merry Christmas" anyway in case I don't manage it. _


	22. Sullied a Dove

_A/N: Sorry for the delay, but with the Christmas rush and some last minute beta duties. I've been kind of swamped lately. Thanks as always to the lovely people who reviewed and happy festive thanks to all those who've been reading/alerting this fic._

_This chapter was the most annoying thing ever. Period. I'm really happy with my ideas and plans for the next two stories, but then I got a nasty case of writers'-block-itus with this one. The kind that makes you want to smack the computer and/or yourself. Grr. (Takes deep breath.) Okay, rant done. This one's rated T and I'm now fairly happy with it. Next two should be better though._

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**And sullied a dove...**

_If I was a poker chip, where would I be?_

Ignoring the obvious answer of "in a casino", Booth emerged from Angela's office, trying to think where his stray chip might have migrated to, and trying not to think about the fact that he was looking for said chip at 11.30pm in a lab the size of Texas while wearing his pajamas.

It had all started earlier that day, when Angela had temporarily misplaced her drawing compass and so had asked to use the poker chip as a circular template. After pointing out that his son had done the exact same thing that weekend, Booth had relented and surrendered his chip. It was only when he'd got home, had a beer, watched a game, brushed, flossed and put on his pajamas that he'd realised he'd forgotten to reclaim it. And so, with the strange conviction that often accompanied deeds done in the middle of the night, he'd thrown on a sweater and driven all the way to the Jeffersonian to retrieve his lucky charm.

Yawning, he jogged up the stairs to the raised platform, wondering if the squints had a "Lost Property" box anywhere. Or, more precisely, an "Items Purloined From FBI Agents That Were Not Duly Returned" box. Unfortunately, the uber-organised squints had failed in this respect and he resorted to peering underneath pieces of machinery on the hunt for the poker chip, which his ever-imaginative son had named Chippy.

Searching contentedly in the rarely silent lab, Booth was taken by surprise when he noticed that the light was on in his partner's office. Fully aware that informing his partner that he was playing "Find Chippy" in her lab in his old, dark green sweatpants and mismatched red hoodie would buy him a one-way ticket to Crazyville, he debated whether to sneak out quietly in the hopes that she wouldn't see him.

However, when the partner in question walked across her office carrying a pink feather duster and wearing high heels and a cocktail dress, Booth's fears were allayed slightly. _Welcome to Crazyville. Population: Bones._

Reassured by the knowledge that if he was committed, she would be going straight into that padded cell with him, Booth walked over to her door, knocking once before poking his head inside with a friendly greeting, "Hey, Bones."

Unsurprisingly, Brennan was slightly startled by an strange, pajama-clad man leaping out at her from the shadows and whirled to face him with a yelp, brandishing the feather duster in one hand and a Bolivian fertility totem in the other as she asked, panicked, "Who's there?"

Partly amused, and partly apprehensive of being knocked out by a jumpy anthropologist holding what looked like a wooden carving of a squished Jelly Baby, Booth stepped fully into the light, raising his hands in surrender, "It's just me, Bones. You can put the weapons down now."

She dropped the fertility totem/Jelly Baby back on the shelf, but retained the feather duster, as she asked, breathing heavily, "What are you doing here, Booth?"

Not really wanted to share the story of Chippy and his Great Escape, Booth resorted to the childish comeback of "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm channeling," she replied matter-of-factly, waving her duster for effect.

Booth just raised his eyebrows as he said with an amused smile, "Channeling who? Martha Stewart?"

Brennan wrinkled her brow. "Is she dead?" Before Booth could ask how she even knew who Martha Stewart was, the anthropologist continued, "I'm not channeling in that sense anyway. When I get angry or upset, I channel my emotions into something productive."

"Like cleaning?" he asked, disbelief written across his face when she nodded.

"I've already cleaned my apartment and still feel tense so I decided to come here and use up my excess energy and frustration."

With a superhuman effort, Booth resisted any cracks about better ways to use up excess energy, instead using his stellar detective skills to ascertain, "So you clean when you're angry or upset, and you're cleaning now..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Booth," she interrupted firmly. "I want to clean."

As if to illustrate her point, she moved over to her shelves and began to carefully dust the tops of large tomes of various anthropological studies. Not convinced, Booth plopped down on her couch, putting his feet on her coffee table and suggesting, "Well, since you've cleaned your entire apartment and still don't feel better, how about trying something different?"

"I want to clean," she repeated firmly, not entirely unlike a pouting child.

"And I'm not stopping you," Booth pointed out quickly, wary of the fact that she was still clutching the duster, which she could easily shove in a very uncomfortable place if provoked "I'm just saying, maybe you could try talking while you're cleaning." She hesitated and he seized the opportunity. "You could start by telling me why you're wearing that dress."

Confused, Temperance looked down at herself, apparently realising for the first time that she was still wearing a halter-neck black cocktail dress and moderately-high black stilettos. Trying to cover her embarrassment at this oversight, she focused her attention on dusting her back issues of The Journal of Forensic Anthropology while explaining briefly, "I went out for dinner."

"On a date?" the agent asked before he could stop himself.

Keeping her back to him, Brennan replied, "No, it was just a dinner with a friend."

Once again employing his astounding powers of deduction, Booth figured that the reason she was either angry or upset - he'd yet to establish which - was most likely because of the dinner with a friend, and not because her very tight dress was currently giving him a wonderful view of her curves. "Friend, huh? Anyone I know?"

She gave no reply, and Booth sat up, intrigued. "So it was someone I know. Was it a he or a she?"

Smirking slightly at his ability to turn everything into some sort of game, she put him out of his misery, not in the mood to play. "It was Sully."

It was Booth's turn to fall silent, his heart sinking at the mention of Sully and his mind instantly leaping to the thing that he would currently be fiddling with in irritation had it not been misplaced. _Chippy goes missing for a few hours and Bones goes out on a date with Sully. I need to get me a better lucky charm._ Realising that his prolonged lack of response was becoming suspicious, he asked, with feigned casualness, "When did he get back into town?"

Now dusting the eye sockets of some skulls, Brennan answered, "He docked this afternoon. He's in DC for a few days to pick up some belongings he put into storage when he left, and so he invited me out for dinner to catch up."

The agent nodded. "How long's it been? A year now?"

"Ten months."

Swallowing hard, Booth gave light-hearted another shot. "So what's he been doing with himself? Fighting off pirates? Founding new colonies?"

He could practically hear his partner roll her eyes. "He's been sailing round the Caribbean for the last year or so; he said he went up to Newfoundland last summer but didn't like the climate. He's mostly been running charters for some of the hotels in the area."

"Sounds great-"

His platitude was cut off as Brennan continued, her voice quiet and almost wistful, "He's sailed all over the Caribbean - Antigua, Montserrat, Grenada - and his job doesn't control where he goes. He goes snorkeling, cave diving, paragliding on his own time without having to worry about murders and remains..." She seemed to pull herself together, concluding in a more familiar, clinical tone, "He's doing well."

Realisation had dawned on Booth as soon as she mentioned cave diving, and he said, more of a statement than a question, "You wish you'd gone with him."

Temperance nearly dropped the duster as she spun to face him, replying instinctively, "Of course I don't."

Getting to his feet, Booth walked over to her, his voice low and tempting as he said, "You sure about that? You said it yourself, Sully's doing well. His life isn't falling apart without having an office to work in, and more than that, he sounds like he's having a great time." He paused, seeing her eyes drop to the floor as she drew her lips into a tight line, still silently defiant.

Judging by her sudden need to clean, Booth decided that denial was doing more harm than good and pressed on, feeling slightly guilty for what he was about to do, "It's basically like one long vacation to him now. He's not working himself into the ground anymore, or spending all his time with murderers and their victims. And cave diving? That's got to be fun." She looked up, mouth still tight, but eyes now glinting slightly in the dim light of the office. Meeting her gaze, he finished softly, "You sure you don't wish you'd gone, Temperance?"

"No," she said firmly, but the cracking of her voice screamed the opposite answer. Her breathing seemed shaky as she rationalised desperately, "There's no use wondering 'What if?'. There are no alternate scenarios; time only moves in one direction so there's no way to change the past or regret decisions. It's not logical, it's-"

"Normal," Booth filled in, moving closer to her as she stood by her desk. "Everybody does it, Bones. Everybody wonders 'What if?' and we all regret decisions sometimes. The trick is to work out if the decisions are worth regretting."

Temperance looked up at him, the rare self-pity in her eyes now replaced with the fire of curiosity that he saw so often. "How? How am I supposed to work out if the decision is worth regretting? Is there a formula or some sort of test that I need to do?"

Smiling at her need to squint-ify everything emotional, Booth nodded, trying to adapt to her way of thinking. "Yep, there's a test. You need to think about the decision you wish you'd made and then compare it to the option that you did take. Weigh up what you could've got with what you have got." Seeing that the concept was still a little too abstract and metaphorical for her, Booth took it step by step, "Okay, so the decision that you regret is not sailing off into the sunset with Sully."

"Yes," she responded, somewhat reluctant to admit it.

Booth nodded encouragingly. "Good. We've already been through what you missed out on by staying here - cave diving, visiting exotic islands, not having to worry about a real job..."

He trailed off as a look of despondency came over his partner's face again and changed to a more positive topic, "Now, you just have to think about what you'd have missed out on if you went with Sully." Racking his brains, he reeled off the first few things that came to mind, "Spending time with your brother and your dad, getting that tape from your mom, being here when Zach got back from Iraq, going to Angela and Hodgins' wedding-that-wasn't, catching killers..."

He paused, watching her hopefully for some sign that she agreed she had made the right choice. He seemed to get his wish, as a small smile of satisfaction crossed her face at the memories. Buoyed by his success, he gave her a friendly nudge, saying with a smile, "See, what could you get with Sully that you couldn't get here?" His eyes traveled to her pale skin, and he amended, jokingly, "Besides possibly a tan."

Brennan's eyes suddenly filled with emotion again but before Booth could open his mouth to explain that he was kidding and wouldn't ever want her to get a tan, she answered his question simply and softly, "I could've had a relationship."

He fell silent and she elaborated, not meeting his gaze, "What I had with Sully was probably the most meaningful relationship I've ever had. If I'd have gone with him, I'd still have that. Instead, he's now dating a woman called Isabella who runs a hotel on one of the islands, and I'm alone again." She sighed, talking to herself more than to Booth, "I thought, when I decided to stay, that maybe..."

Her eyes lifted to meet his as she cut herself off, standing upright and picking up her feather-duster again. "It doesn't matter. I made my choice, and it's not rational to dwell on things that could never happen."

She moved to turn away and resume her cleaning, but Booth gripped the handle of the duster, holding it, and her, in place as he took a step closer, his voice quiet but intense, "When you decided to stay, you thought what?"

"Nothing," she answered, a little too quickly, and he just stared at her, waiting for the truth that they both knew but had never vocalised. Just as nature abhors a vacuum, Temperance couldn't help but fill the silence with reasoning, "What I thought at the time has no bearing on anything. It was nothing but idle predictions and speculation."

"You don't do speculation, Bones," he reminded her gently. "Whatever you thought, whatever you were hoping would happen if you stayed, there had to be some rationale behind it. You had to have some evidence that you thought it was possible or else you would've been on that boat with Sully in a heartbeat." He moved in closer, dipping his head to meet her gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, "Where's your evidence, Temperance?"

Not taking her eyes from his, her empty hand moved slowly across her desk, knowing the location of this particular piece of evidence like the back of her hand. Her fingers closed around it with a shaky grip and she brought it up for him to see, proof that, as ever, her reasoning was always backed up by something tangible.

Booth saw the apprehension in her face as she raised the object for his inspection and couldn't stop himself from raising his own hand to cup her cheek in a mirrored gesture of support and reassurance, already knowing what she held.

Their eyes stayed locked together, neither looking at where the other's hand had moved to, and then closed at the same time, the connection forged by their gaze transferring to their lips with an equally burning intensity.

Where their first kiss had been nervous and gentle, their second was confident and strong, tongues meeting almost as soon as their lips touched and arms pulling each other as close as the barrier of their clothes would allow. Booth's hand caressed the back of Brennan's neck, holding her to him, while his other roamed the tantalising curves accentuated by her form-fitting dress which she now seemed to wear only for him.

As her tongue plundered his mouth, savoring the flavor of his taste mingled perfectly with hers, Brennan's hand couldn't help but hold on to the evidence she had taken from her desk, as though clinging on to a lifeline while the rest of her surrendered willingly to the storm. Sensing this, Booth's hand traveled down to hers, squeezing it tenderly in affirmation that he was the only lifeline she would ever need.

Her grip relaxed under the warmth of his hand and her precious evidence dropped to the desk with a small thud, the noise lost amid the pounding of their hearts in the ears. Their arms came up to complete the embrace, all thoughts of Sully and his boat drowned out by the tempest of which they were now both a part, and all worries about what could have been washed away by the waves of the present.

Lost in each other, neither of them paid any further attention to the small toy pig lying on the desk, who had definitely played his part in the night's proceedings. They also didn't notice the small colored piece of plastic next to Jasper, which indicated that Booth's poker chip was pretty lucky after all.

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_Reviews loved even more than usual, since it's my birthday tomorrow (and extra points to anyone who knows how old I'll be.) :)_


	23. How Could They Try You

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review, especially at such a hectic time of year. I think I replied to them all, but if I missed you, I'm very sorry!_

_This chapter is based on the conversation in The Man on Death Row, where we find out that Booth arrested Brennan during the pilot for shooting the murderer in the leg, and is set directly after that arrest. Huge thanks go to _redrider6612_ for the permission to use her story, Arresting Bones, as inspiration for this chapter - go read and review it if you haven't already!_

_Rated T. Sorry if the characterisation seems a little off - I was trying to get it to match the pilot and I'm not sure whether I succeeded. _

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**How could they try you...**

Of all the things Angela Montenegro expected to do before Temperance Brennan, getting arrested was somewhere between maxing out a boyfriend's credit card solely on perfume and expensive chocolate, and participating in a drunken (second) marriage ceremony in Vegas.

Therefore, as she sat in her car, idling on the curb outside the Hoover building and mentally giving the passing agents marks out of ten, she had no idea as to the real reason why Brennan had called for a ride. The anthropologist had told her that she'd left her car at the house of the senator's aide, who had just been busted for murder, and that she needed a lift to retrieve it, but had left the rest up to Angela's imagination.

Angela had a very vivid imagination.

Happily picturing her best friend being carried over the threshold of the Hoover building by a certain FBI agent whose smile could melt the panties right off any woman in the vicinity, she was jolted out of her thoughts when said best friend rapped sharply on the window of her car, with her panties still in solid form and an expression which informed her that she was clearly unhappy about something.

Inwardly wondering whether the agent hadn't lived up to her somewhat stellar expectations, the artist gave her an apologetic grin as she dropped into the passenger seat. "Sorry, sweetie; I didn't see you come out..."

Brennan waved her apology away, lips tight and eyes forward. "Can we just go, Ange?"

Slightly concerned, and wondering just how bad Booth really was at desk-sex, Angela put the car into drive and set off for Thompson's house, shooting anxious glances at her friend as they went. After less than a block, the silence became too much for her, and she ventured gently, "What happened, Bren?" The anthropologist looked over at her, and she elaborated, "When you left you were like a kickass version of Velma, and now you look like someone just stole your Scooby van. What happened? You arrested the guy, didn't you?"

Not understanding the pop culture references, but knowing exactly what story her friend wanted from her, Brennan just nodded, her jaw still tight as she replied, "Yes. He did it; he killed Cleo Eller and he was about to destroy evidence when I got there."

Angela grinned with satisfaction, "So, smoking gun then?"

Brennan's head snapped round to face her and she protested vehemently, "He was going to light the place on fire! It was completely rational!"

The artist wrinkled her brow, confused as to how Brennan had jumped from a common saying to an impassioned defense. "What? Bren, I-" Realisation dawned and the car swerved violently as Angela looked over at her friend in shock. "You shot him?!"

"He was going to destroy evidence!" Brennan replied, at a roughly equal volume but slightly lower pitch. "He killed Cleo Eller; he would've set me on fire!"

"So you shot him?" she repeated, still stunned. "You pulled your gun, and shot a guy?"

"A murderer..." Brennan defended, losing conviction, and Angela shook her head with a smirk.

"Well, that explains what you were doing at the Hoover building. Did Booth and his bosses give you hell for it?"

The anthropologist looked firmly out of the window as she answered evasively, "In a way."

The patented 'Sexual Innuendos Ahoy!' grin spread across the artist's face as she asked with a conspiratorial eyebrow wiggle, "Oh really? Was there spanking involved? Did our Extra Special Agent break out those handcuffs?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Ange," she responded tersely, fingers clenched into frustrated fists as she stared stubbornly at the passing streets.

However, like a dog with a very different type of bone, Angela wasn't about to let this one go, especially since Brennan's 'no comment' was practically an admission of gossip. Leaning back in her seat, she pondered, mostly to herself, "So, I was right about one thing, but was it the spanking or the handcuffs?" She pressed on with the wild speculation, hoping that Brennan would tell the truth just to get her to shut up, "Hmm, well, if I had to guess, Booth seems like more of a handcuff guy to me. Spanking just seems so impersonal..."

Partly uncomfortable, partly annoyed and partly wondering in what situation spanking would be considered impersonal, Temperance finally put her out of her misery. "Fine." Her tone was laced with anger as she informed her, "Booth arrested me for shooting Thompson." Angela's mouth dropped open. "He let me go, but only after he took me back to the Hoover building in handcuffs and had me interrogated."

"He did what?!" Angela asked, her pitch now barely in the range of human hearing. The sleek blue sports car had a near miss with a mailbox as she looked over at her friend, stunned by this revelation. "He arrested you?"

Now more concerned with her life than the arrest, Brennan gripped the door handle, reminding nervously, "Angela, the road..."

"They make the sidewalk wide for a reason," she shrugged, apparently figuring that the hapless pedestrians had enough room to duck and cover. "But he arrested you? Seriously? Handcuffs and interrogation and the whole "you have the right to remain silent" shebang?"

"I just said that."

"Right." The artist regained some of her composure. "Sorry." She also regained her curiosity. "So what did he say? Did he come up with some crappy excuse about protecting and serving, and that it was all for your own good?"

Brennan shook her head, an unhappy expression on her face. "He came up to me outside the house and said he was sorry, but before I could say anything, he put me in cuffs and read me my rights."

"What about the ride to the Hoover building? Did you not ask him what the hell he was doing?"

"I didn't speak to him," she admitted, almost proudly. "Anything I said could've been used in court, so I didn't want to give him any ammunition. Some other agent interrogated me, and then they let me go, saying that they weren't going to take it any further. I've not seen Booth since before the interrogation, and I don't want to."

"Sweetie..." Angela said in a half pitying, half patronising tone.

"Don't start," Brennan interrupted firmly. "I am not talking to him. His actions were completely unnecessary, bureaucratic, humiliating..." She sighed but kept her fists clenched as she reiterated, "I am not speaking to him. If the FBI need my assistance with anything else, they can assign a new agent."

"But you two were doing so well," the artist countered hopefully, before reconsidering, "Okay, not 'well' in the traditional sense, but you hadn't broken any of his bones yet, which, for you, is definitely progress. Just talk to him, before you do something you'll regret."

"Which part of 'he arrested me' do you not understand, Ange?" Temperance asked, frustrated. "I can't work with him. If I have to deal with a new selection of incompetent agents then that's fine, but I do not want to see that arrogant, egotistic, unreasonable-"

"Incredibly hot," Angela chipped in, deciding to throw what she considered to be a mitigating adjective into the list.

Brennan smirked, before saying with half-hearted annoyance, "I thought the role of the best friend was to demonise men like him."

"Hey, I can demonise with the best of them," the artist protested with a grin. "Remember Hank?"

Despite her irritation, she couldn't stop a smile from playing on her lips as she remembered the pictures of her former boyfriend, complete with a certain digitally reduced body part, that Angela had gleefully delivered to every mail tray at the Jeffersonian as payback for his cheating ways.

Seeing the smile, Angela continued, her tone softening, "But what happened with Booth isn't like that. While Hank was a lying bastard who couldn't keep it in his pants, Booth was probably just doing what he had to." She gave her an encouraging smile. "You need to give him another chance, Bren. From what I saw during this case, you might actually be able to make this one work out."

Temperance's smile vanished. "I don't want a relationship with Booth, Angela. You may want to sleep with him, but I don't."

The artist made a 'Psht' noise before saying playfully, "Oh please. No woman in the world would kick him out of bed." Remembering the point of the conversation before it diverged to bed and Booth, she became serious again. "I wasn't talking about you getting into a relationship with him anyway, although if you did, you two would have the world's cutest kids-"

"Angela."

"Right, sorry. What I meant was that this partnership could actually turn out okay." She glanced over at her as they stopped at some lights. "You two work well together, sweetie. He's like the Mulder to your Scully."

"Booth said that earlier." She wrinkled her brow. "I still don't know what it means."

Making a mental note of what DVDs to buy her friend for Christmas, the artist tried again, "You know, the up to your down, the left to your right, the S to your M-" Temperance shot her a glare and she bit her lip to hide a smile. "Too early for handcuff jokes?" Taking the silence as a resounding 'yes', she continued, "He's yin, you're yang. Opposites attract, honey, or in this case, opposites make one awesome crime-fighting team."

They turned the corner as they neared Thompson's house, but Brennan shook her head again. "He arrested me. I'm a forensic anthropologist, a published author, his _partner_, and he just arrested me like some criminal." The bitterness returned to her voice as she continued, "He didn't even bother to question me himself; he got another agent to do it because he was off taking all the credit for catching the killer. He probably doesn't even care whether I was released or not."

"Oh, he cares," Angela said, a smile in her voice as she pulled up to the curb. "He definitely cares."

Puzzled by her confidence, Temperance glanced at her friend, only to see that she was looking across the suburban street with a smile on her face. Following her gaze, the anthropologist was surprised to see Booth's SUV parked next to her car, with the agent himself leaning against the dark vehicle, fingers playing nervously with a poker chip as he waited for her to emerge.

Panicked by situations she couldn't control, Brennan looked helplessly at her friend. "I don't want to talk to him, Ange."

"Then just listen to him," Angela replied with an understanding smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Taking that as her cue to leave, she exited the car, standing uncomfortably on the sidewalk as Angela drove off with a final wave and a swerve. Willing herself not to walk straight over and slap him, Brennan headed towards her car, doing her best to ignore the fact that Booth had moved to stand in her way.

He proved harder to ignore when he took hold of her arm gently, stopping her from bypassing him, and said quietly, "Bones, wait."

She tugged her arm out of his grip, but faced him nonetheless. "I told you not to call me, Bones." Not wanting to hear his cocky comeback, she inquired tiredly, "What are you doing here, Booth?"

"Apologising," he said simply. She stared at him for a second, before moving off towards her car without saying a word. "Hey, hey, wait, okay?" Booth protested, running round the back of the vehicle to intercept her before she could get in the door. "Just hear me out, alright?"

"Hear you out?" she repeated, incredulously. "What's there to say, Booth? You ignored the fact that I was supposed to be your partner, arrested me for preventing myself being set on fire, took me in like a criminal, and then had another agent interrogate me because you were too busy bragging to your boss about how you solved the case without any help from a 'squint'." She paused for breath, before saying bitterly, "I don't need to hear you out, Booth. I was there, remember?"

Cringing at her recap of events, he began to argue back, "Bones, it wasn't like that and you know it. I had to arrest you; you shot a guy!"

"He was a murderer!"

"Which is why they let you go." He looked at her apologetically. "It had to be done by the book if we wanted to ensure Thompson didn't have any loopholes to exploit at trial, and that meant that I had to read you your rights, cuff you and have an unconnected agent conduct the interrogation. If it helps, I didn't want to do any of it, especially since you were only defending yourself."

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "You want me to feel sorry for _you_? The FBI doesn't respect me or my work at the best of times, but to be led through the building in handcuffs and then interrogated... Booth, it was humiliating! How are they ever going to respect the work that-"

She was cut off as Booth started to laugh, and her hands went to her hips, suddenly thinking that Angela's happiness over the lack of broken bones was a little premature. Seeing her offended expression, he tried to stifle a smile as he explained, "Bones, the guys at the FBI didn't think any less of _you_ for what happened tonight."

"Then what-"

"It's going to take me years to live down the fact that my squint went off on her own to catch a murderer, and not only preserved vital evidence but shot the bastard in the process. You did what most agents dream of doing, and the fact that I showed up afterwards to clear up the mess is not doing my reputation much good."

He shot her a genuine grin, and she felt the corners of her own mouth tugging upward slightly, relieved and amused by the reactions of his co-workers. Registering this smile, Booth met her eyes, saying sincerely, "I'm sorry, Bones. Really."

Although her panties still managed to stay intact, Temperance felt the majority of her anger melting away under his soft smile, and she reluctantly conceded, "You're forgiven. You were only doing what you had to..."

The grin widened as he said teasingly, "And the fact that I came off worse than you out of this has nothing to do with it at all."

She shrugged, happy to let the smug smile play on her lips as he moved away from her car door to let her in. Booth rolled his eyes at this, and couldn't resist pointing out, "Well, I have may have lost a bit of respect, but at least I still get my gun."

Temperance's face dropped into a scowl. "I want my gun back."

"Sure," he replied with a friendly smile. "I'll even help you with the permit application."

Her mouth fell open and he backed off toward the safety of his tank-like SUV. "Permit application?! Booth, give me the gun!"

"Do you really think you should be shouting that in a neighborhood where you just gunned down a resident?" he asked with feigned concern as he opened his car door, and she stared daggers at him.

"I did not 'gun down a resident' - that has extremely negative connotations. I shot a murderer, in the leg, in self defense." Always unable to resist an argument, she added pointedly, "Which I wouldn't have needed to do if a certain FBI agent hadn't left the shooting up to me."

To her annoyance the cocky grin didn't budge. "You're right, Bones. In future, I should do _all_ the shooting."

Catching her out, Booth climbed smoothly into the truck as she tried to come up with a suitably scathing response, feeling mildly content that not only had his partner forgiven him, but he'd managed to get some payback for all the mocking he would undoubtedly endure at work the following day.

Seeing him reach for the door handle, and unable to produce a comeback that didn't make her sound whiny and/or like a gun-wielding maniac, Temperance called out the first thing that sprang to mind, "Don't call me Bones!"

Booth's door slammed shut before she could even finish her sentence, and she slid, pouting, into her own car as he drove off. Sighing in annoyance, she started the engine, pleased that they had managed to resolve the arrest issue, but making a mental note that the ridiculous 'Bones' nickname he'd bestowed upon her would definitely have to go.

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_Reviews are loved as always._


	24. Or Demystify You

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed that last chapter; I'm horribly busy at the moment and your feedback is pretty much the only thing stopping this fic from free-falling down my priority list. :)_

_I think this is the first time a story's ever run away from me before. Hopefully you'll like it anyway as it's full of cute, new-relationship-all-is-perfect fluff. Oh, and smut. (Is it just me or is it really hard to find places that B&B_ haven't _had sex yet?) **Rated M.**_

_I've not disclaimed for ages, so this is me not owning Bones or the song "You're Lovely to Me" (which is up in my profile if you want to listen to it.) I'm not sure how widely known Pingu is in America, but I don't own him either._

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**Or demystify you with words...**

"I don't see the point in us going on actual dates," Temperance pondered as she and her partner wandered through the crowds. "I mean, we've already slept together-"

Booth promptly choked on his cotton candy, while Brennan merely watched with interest, previously unaware that such an event was physically possible.

Dislodging the pink fluff from his windpipe, Booth whispered urgently, "We're in public, Bones. _Public_. Meaning where there are people. You don't need to announce to everyone that we've slept together." Continuing before she could argue, he added, "And dates aren't always about leading up to sex. It's just a chance for us to spend some time together." His arm encircled her waist loosely. "You know, as a couple."

Brennan frowned. "We do spend time as a couple."

"Yeah, between the sheets," he clarified with a smile.

"Oh." Booth's smile vanished as he saw a hurt expression wash over his partner's face. "I thought- I mean, I didn't realise that you didn't like what we were doing."

"Hey, no, okay, Bones?" He pulled her in a little closer as they walked. "That's not what I meant. I love what we've been doing. It's great." He planted a kiss on her hair. "You're great. And when we get back, I promise I'll show you exactly how great I think you are, but for now, let's just enjoy ourselves." Loosening his grip on her, he took another, non-choking, mouthful of cotton candy as he gestured ahead of them. "Besides, this is about me teaching you how to experience the fun of the DC carnival."

"By making me eat this?" she asked, eyeing the sweet, sticky mass of cotton candy with suspicion.

Booth sighed. "It's sugar, Bones, not poison." To demonstrate that the candy was indeed non-lethal, he took another messy mouthful of his own before giving her an encouraging, if not entirely candy-free, grin.

He may as well have smeared himself in cotton candy from head to toe judging by the look he received from his partner, who swiftly dropped hers in the nearest trash can with a smile.

As ever, Booth rose to the bait, saying with all the authority he could muster, "Bones, you are not leaving this carnival without having some cotton candy." He eyed the now discarded candy. "And I paid for that."

"Only because you bought it before I could stop you," she countered, effectively de-railing whatever guilt-trip he planned to take her on.

Foiled, Booth put on his best puppy-dog expression, "C'mon, Bones..."

"No," she said firmly as they walked through the maze of rides and brightly colored stalls. "I am not eating that. There is no way it can be good for you; that pink color is definitely not from a natural source, and that much sugar would caus-"

She was cut off as Booth, with all the skill and proficiency associated with a sniper-trained federal agent, pushed the cotton candy into her mouth mid-sentence.

"Moof!"

Unsure whether that was supposed to be 'Booth', 'Move' or an impression of an irate cow, Booth contritely removed the mass of candy and threw it in the trash too, leaving her with a full mouth and a fluffy pink moustache. The sugar quickly melted in her mouth, and Brennan swallowed it down before slapping him hard on the arm.

"Ow?"

"You could at least ask before just shoving it in my mouth," she replied, searching for something to remove the moustache, which looked like it belonged to a camp version of Groucho Marx. "Maybe then you wouldn't get it all over my face."

Against his better judgement, Booth couldn't help conjuring up a different scenario for that remark, and as the scenario became a full-blown (in every sense of the word) fantasy, he quickly focused his attention elsewhere. Catching her by the arms, he turned her to face him, meeting her eyes as he said with a mischievous smile, "Let me help you with that."

Before she could form a coherent thought, his lips met hers, the sugary flavor mingling between their mouths. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into the kiss, smiling inwardly when she felt Booth's tongue brush gently against her lips, removing all traces of the wayward cotton candy before letting his teeth nibble teasingly on her bottom lip. When they finally broke apart, she looked up at him with a soft smile and a bad impersonation, "What happened to 'We're in public, Bones'?"

They continued walking as Booth answered with mock-insult, "First of all, I sound nothing like that, and secondly, kissing in public doesn't exactly fall under indecent exposure." She felt his warm breath on her neck as he leaned in, speaking under his breath, "Of course, if I were to take you behind that Hoop Toss stall and lick something other than cotton candy, they could probably throw away the key."

Temperance's mouth dropped open, feeling the familiar throb between her thighs at his words, but he smoothly moved back to her side before she could tug him behind the stall in question and change the suggestion to an action. Seeing that he now wore an innocent smile as he surveyed the carnival before them, she elbowed him lightly in the ribs as a reminder that she wanted some variation of that promise kept that night.

He merely smiled again and gestured to the sprawling mess of bright stalls and flashing lights in front of them, asking simply, "So what do you want to do, Bones, given that getting arrested is out of the question?"

Giving the question more thought that was perhaps necessary, Temperance eventually settled on a stall tucked behind the red-and-blue big wheel. "That one."

Before Booth could argue with her decision, she set off for the stall in question and was happily weighing up a miniature cross-bow when her partner caught up with her, shaking his head at her choice, "What is it with you and weapons? Of all the things to do here, you've chosen the rifles, the pistols, the water-guns and now the cross-bows."

She looked up at him, blue eyes wide and misleadingly innocent given that she was clutching the cross-bow like a kid at Christmas. "I picked the Haunted House too," she pointed out, pouting slightly.

"Yeah, and you karate-chopped a ghost and would've broken Dracula's arm if I hadn't stopped you." He stepped up beside her and picked a weapon of his own. "Face it, Bones, you're just a violent woman." He handed two dollar bills to the young man in charge of the ammunition, saying with a friendly tone, "Three each please."

The man's eyes flickered between the pair of them nervously, rightly wary about handing three cross-bow bolts to someone described as a 'violent woman', but laid them on the counter nonetheless, before retreating for cover as he gave his sales pitch, "Two hits inside the target for a small toy, three for a large."

Brennan and Booth locked gazes, the unspoken challenge passing between them as they loaded their low-powered cross-bows with what were essentially glorified darts.

"Ladies first," she said with a grin, and Booth rolled his eyes.

"Funny." Nevertheless, he took aim first, squinting slightly before pulling the trigger and embedding the dart just outside the bullseye.

Five shots later, both Booth and Brennan walked away from the stall with very large, very cuddly penguins tucked under their arms.

Holding his squishy blue penguin at eye level, Booth stared at it with a sigh, addressing his partner, "You know, you are allowed to say 'no' when they offer you a prize."

Brennan cuddled her penguin defensively. "I don't see the value in turning down something that we won. It defeats the whole point of the game."

"And ordinarily, I'd agree with you," he countered, wiggling his penguin's flippers at her. "However, this is the fifth pair of toys we've won tonight and I don't think I can fit anymore in the trunk."

"They could sit on the dash," she suggested helpfully and Booth just looked at her in disbelief.

"I am not driving around with these things on my dash. I do have some pride, Bones."

"What do you want to do, leave them here?" she asked, aghast, hugging her penguin with an expression which told Booth that if the penguins weren't in the car, _he_ wasn't going to be in the car.

"Fine," he conceded reluctantly. "But so that my son doesn't drown in the zoo of cuddly toys that have invaded his bedroom, how about we do something a little less competitive next? You, know, like the big wheel, or the tilt-a-whirl, or the tunnel of love..."

That got Brennan's attention away from the penguin. "Excuse me?"

"The tunnel of love, Bones. It's a ride?"

"I'm sure it is," she replied, somewhat taken aback by his apparent crudeness.

Sighing, Booth gestured to the tacky white ride on the opposite side of the field. "A _carnival_ ride. Jeez, you and your dirty mind..."

Looking over at the ride, she glanced back up at him, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Sorry."

"Hey, don't apologise." He leaned in closer, his penguin nuzzling hers, as he said, "The fact that your scientific brain is even capable of having dirty thoughts is my favorite thing about you." His arm snaked round her waist and she smiled when she felt his fingers brush lightly against the side of her breast as he amended, "Well, one of my favorite things."

Not moving away from his embrace, she said teasingly, "Are you objectifying me, Agent Booth?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dr Brennan," he answered, his voice silky smooth in her ear. "Especially since you and Pingu there could kick my ass seven ways from Sunday if I tried."

"Pingu?"

"The penguin?"

"My penguin's called Pingu?"

"No, there's a TV penguin called Pingu."

"Oh." Brennan studied her penguin for a moment before looking up at Booth for approval. "Can I call mine Pingu? Or is that culturally inappropriate?"

Inwardly contemplating which was cuter - his partner or her penguin - Booth gave her a smile before moving back to non-cuddling distance. "You can call it whatever you want, Bones. Pingu's a good name." Deciding to seize the opportunity while she was absorbed in her penguin, he guided her over to a small wooden hut, about the size of a large playhouse, upon which was draped a sign reading 'Fortune Telling'.

Unfortunately, before he could usher her inside, the protesting began. "Fortune telling? Booth, it's impossible for anyone to be able to predict the future. All fortune tellers just make guesses based on observations of their customers, or give suitably vague predictions that don't mean anything."

Sighing, Booth met her eyes, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he said, "Just trust me, alright, Bones? Carnival spirit and all that? You'll enjoy it, I promise."

For a woman who didn't believe in Christmas spirit, carnival spirit may have been pushing it, but Brennan acquiesced and allowed Booth to lead her inside, still clutching the penguin stubbornly. On the outside, the small hut was barely indistinguishable from a garden shed, but on the inside, nothing could be further from the truth.

Long lengths of shimmering material ran up the sides of the room, criss-crossing at the top before looping their way back to the floor, creating the appearance of a small, intimate circus tent. The ends of the drapes lay across the myriad of cushions on the floor, looking like sweeping brush-strokes from the palette of colors made up of the soft, oriental-style pillows. The only lighting came from a lamp under the low center table, which illuminated the cushions from ground level and cast long, twisting shadows up the exotic drapes.

Curious, Temperance slid her shoes off before parting the drapes and stepping carefully onto the mound of cushions, amazed at the unexpected beauty of the place. Hearing the sound of a key turning in the lock, she glanced around in confusion, registering the large crystal ball on the table, but no fortune teller. Booth made his way through the material as well, his socks slipping on the silk beneath him, and she asked, bewildered, "Are we supposed to read our own fortunes?"

He grinned, dropping his penguin to the floor and kissing her lightly on the lips. "Something like that."

Still confused by his behavior, she tried to pull away from his embrace, saying worriedly, "Booth, someone'll come in."

"Not through the locked door they won't," he said quietly, holding her to him. "I saw the fortune teller leave here about two minutes ago. No-one's going to disturb us." He moved in again, his lips almost brushing hers as he whispered, "Now, where were we?"

Before Temperance could answer the admittedly-rhetorical question, he captured her lips again with his, his warm palm resting against her cool cheek and his fingers sliding into her auburn hair while his other hand rested snugly at her waist. Feeling herself relax into the kiss and feeling Booth's tongue slip into her mouth, Brennan abruptly pulled away, backing off nervously.

"Booth, we can't do this here. Someone will hear, or see, or the fortune teller will come back, or-"

His fingers were over her lips before she could get anymore out, and his eyes met hers, steady and sincere. "No-one's going to find us, Bones; just relax." He moved his fingers and put his arms round her waist again. "Look, I know you've hated being at the carnival today-"

"I don't hate it, I just-"

"Temperance, the happiest I've seen you all day is when you were playing Whac-a-mole." She made no further objections and he continued, "It's okay not to enjoy it, alright? I just thought we should try doing something different together. Obviously the carnival is not your thing, but it means a lot to me that you came. Now please," He moved in closer, "let me make it up to you." His fingers brushed the inside of her thighs and he smiled as her eyes widened. "I did promise you'd enjoy it in here."

Not about to argue with that offer, Brennan let her penguin tumble to the floor as well, her hands moving to grasp the lapels of Booth's jacket and tug him closer toward her, kissing him thoroughly. Her arms moved around his neck, and she went onto her tiptoes to enable her body to press firmly against his, her breasts flush against his chest and their jeans touching from ankle to hip. As one of his hands came up to tangle in her hair, she used the opening to let her own hand drift down to his belt buckle, playing skilfully with the catch.

However, just before she could unhook it and speed up their little rendezvous, Booth caught her wrist, pulling back from the kiss and looking her in the eye, his voice low and husky, "No. This is about you enjoying yourself; I've had my fun today."

She raised her eyebrows. "You must really like your carnival games."

He gave her a half-smile, a glint in his eyes as he said slowly, "Well, maybe there is something you can do for me... Lie down."

Perplexed by the instruction, she obeyed nevertheless, sitting down on the cushions and finding a comfortable position as he knelt next to her, his gaze alone making her heart race in anticipation. Leaning over her, he kissed her softly on the lips, the dim light from the table falling across her features and making her delicate skin glow under his touch.

Hovering over her, he spoke softly, his voice more indicative of a request than an order, "This is about you enjoying yourself, so I want you to show me how. Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself the way I'm going to touch you." He stroked her cheek gently as she looked up at him, uncertain. "Tell me what you think about, Temperance. It doesn't have to be practical, or logical, or even possible; just say what you have running through that brilliant mind of yours when I'm not there."

Her voice shaky, she asked, with uncharacteristic timidness, "You want me to tell you what I fantasise about?"

He nodded, eyeing her carefully. "You think you can do that?"

"It might not be very... stimulating," she replied nervously but he just smiled encouragingly.

"C'mon, I've read your books. If you can conjure up something that steamy for your characters, I'm pretty sure you can manage it for yourself." She smiled but bit her lip anxiously. "There's no need to be embarrassed, okay? Just take your time."

Giving her a final kiss of reassurance, Booth shifted down to a position between her legs, asking as a prompt, "Where would you be?"

"We would be in the interrogation room," she replied quietly, surprising him by the confidence in her voice. Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander back to familiar territory, the usual filters of modesty lulled to sleep as her partner ran his fingernails along the inside seams of her jeans, already causing a tightening between her legs. "The same interrogation room we've been in hundreds of times, with the black walls with the slanted design, and metal table in the center; the place where Dr Wyatt says you work your magic. Only instead of you being in control there, I am."

As she spoke, Booth's fingers edged slowly up her legs, and she inhaled sharply when his nails dragged a slow, hard path down from the bottom of her zipper. The pressure lightened as he continued to trace a path up and down, and she continued, her voice smoky with desire, "You're standing in front of me, with your hands on your head as though you're waiting for me to cuff you. I just walk around you, watching the way your ass tightens when I brush the base of your spine and the way you gasp when my nails trace the exposed skin above your jeans."

His fingers did just that and she shifted slightly, wanting the warmth of his hands on her as she spoke, "Your hands stay on your head until I tell you otherwise, and the position makes your shirt stretch open around the buttons, begging me to unfasten them. I'm not one to say no to you, Seeley; I'm never one to say no. Your eyes are closed as I slowly undo each button, letting my fingers brush against every inch of warm skin as it's exposed to me. Your shirt falls open when I'm done, and my hands smooth over the planes of your chest, feeling every twitch of your muscles and every beat of your heart between my own thighs.

"I let you put your arms down for a second and the shirt slides to the floor. But I'm not finished yet and you raise them again, the soft shadows in the room making me want to run my lips along every curve of your biceps and triceps as you stand before me. Seeing you shiver beneath my gaze, I let my fingers drop to your belt buckle, cold in comparison to your warm body, and unhook it, then undo your jeans, and you harden against my touch even through two layers of fabric."

Slowly, Booth flicked open the button of her jeans, before planting a featherlight kiss on her stomach and catching the zipper between his teeth. He dragged it down, his nose brushing the front of her panties as he did so, and she raised her hips upward, enabling him to pull her pants down and off her legs, leaving her lying before him with just a thin layer of silk between their lips. His warm hands cupped her ass, lowering her back down, and she felt her panties dampen at the movement, directing her mind back to her fantasy.

"Your jeans drop to the floor, and I push your boxers down with them. Part of me wants to wait, wants to enjoy removing them inch by inch while you bite your lip and try not to beg, but in the end I can't wait. They fall to the ground with your jeans, leaving you completely naked before me, and the sight alone makes me wetter than if I'd stripped you slowly." Booth swallowed hard at the narration, applying gentle pressure through her panties with his first two fingers.

"I let you stand for a moment, taking in every single part of you, while enjoying the sensation of being in control. Seeing you naked in front of me while I stand fully-clothed turns me on more than I thought possible, and as much as I enjoy the sight, I can never hold out for long without needing your hands on me."

Stroking her folds one last time through the sodden silk, Booth hooked his fingers into the waistband of the panties and slipped them over the curve of her ass, before tossing them to the side and positioning himself between her thighs. His fingers danced lightly over her hipbones as she rocked toward him expectantly, but didn't move past the patch of curls until her narration began again, her voice now shaky and halting.

"Your eyes open as you stand in front of me and your gaze holds mine for a moment as the balance of power shifts back in your favor. Your hands move from your head to mine, entwining in my hair and pulling me into a kiss while backing me up against the soft black wall. Your hands grab my ass through my clothes, but mine are free to roam your bare skin, leaving tiny white imprints as I squeeze your ass, feeling you press into my stomach as you arch against me, wanting a release.

"I squeeze again, harder-" Her words were broken by a gasp and a moan as Booth's lips descended on her, his tongue probing her folds before closing around her nub in a kiss. He stroked her slowly with his tongue, bringing her back to a steady ascent and letting her continue with her fantasy.

"I squeeze again, harder, and you push yourself against me as the kiss becomes deeper. The air is forced out of my lungs by your strong, hard body against mine-" She paused for breath, her breathing shallow as Booth ran his teeth gently along her lips. "But oxygen seems less vital than having your mouth against mine. Your hand moves to tug my skirt off and I rake my fingers across your back at the feel of you ripping my panties from my shaking legs.

"You growl in response, biting and sucking at my neck, and I almost come right there, just from the vibrations of your chest through my body. I can barely stay upright, but you grasp my wrists with your hand, pinning them above my head to hold me up and leaving me open to you." She let out a throaty laugh, combined with a whimper as his teeth grazed her clit. "You never waste an opportunity, Seeley.

"I hear the sound of my shirt tearing open, but your lips are on me before the cool air. You open the front clasp of my bra, and my nipples immediately harden as you push the cups away, wanting you to taste them. I kick my shoes away, stretching my body more as I stand on my toes, needing you against me, upon me, inside me-"

Another gasp broke the fantasy as she writhed beneath him. but his ministrations slowed. She finally realised that the point of his little game was to let her set the pace, and so pressed on, desperate for both mental and physical release. "Neither of us can wait any longer and your hand drops from my wrists to my ass, lifting me so that we can get what we both want. My legs wrap around your waist, both of us sleek with sweat, and you push me back again the wall, burying yourself inside-"

Between her legs, Booth followed her directions, sliding two fingers inside her and stroking her slowly as she let out a gasping scream, barely able to speak, "You- you thrust into me, and I meet you- ah- Your lips go to my breasts, and you suck, ah, hard-"

Her hips rose and fell, thrusting toward him in time with the strokes of his tongue. She closed her thighs round his head, leaving him unable to hear her words as he licked and stroked with zealous devotion.

Unable to stop herself now, Temperance continued, forming the words and fantasy fully in her mind, knowing that they no longer made it out of her mouth, "My whole body seems to tighten around you and I gasp as you move faster and deeper inside me. I can barely breathe, and tilt my head up, sucking in cool air that is instantly warmed by your lips on my throat. I look forward and see us in the mirror, my arms and legs wrapped round your body, your head nestled in my breasts, your mouth sucking hard on my nipples, and our bodies, glistening with sweat, pushing together until-"

The fantasy stopped. All thoughts ceased, replaced by nothing except the fireworks shooting through her body as she stiffened beneath her partner's tongue and fingers, surrendering to the explosion, the pounding in her ears, and the flashes of colors that lingered inside her eyelids.

As she regained the ability to breathe, she took deep, shaky breaths, noting that her throat was dry from screaming his name as she came, and she let her trembling hands drop to her sides, not even realising that she had been clutching the cushion under her head. Her legs slumped to the floor, spent, while Booth planted a soft, final kiss between them before sitting up and gently sliding her panties back over her feet.

Still breathing heavily, she sat up at the sensation, eyes widening as she seemed to remember Booth's part in the whole proceedings for the first time. Slipping her panties on hurriedly, she took her jeans from his hand, saying with a small smile, "Booth, I- That was-"

He interrupted her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Hey, I definitely didn't do all the work here." Wiping his mouth, he kissed her lightly on the lips before saying softly, "You did good, Bones."

Her smile widened, pleased by the memory, and she pulled her jeans on quickly, mindful of the possible reappearance of the fortune teller, who clearly hadn't predicted this. Feeling a aftershock run through her legs as she stood, she put her shoes on and grabbed her penguin before following Booth to the door.

Looking at her somewhat disheveled appearance, he asked, grinning, "Ready to go?"

She nodded, letting him take her hand in his as they left their own private world for the bustle of the carnival, and suggested casually, "You know, I wouldn't mind coming again next year."

Booth raised his eyebrows. "Next year, huh?" Leaning in closer, he said cockily, "Because I was thinking more along the lines of tonight."

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_Reviews greatly appreciated, if only to let me know that someone actually made it to the end of this one. :)_


	25. City That's Pulling Me Still

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. Reviewers, you did an awesome job preventing the priority list freefall, but sadly some things could not be postponed for the sake of this fic. Plus, I contracted that pesky writer's block again. Updates should hopefully come at a more regular speed now (ie once or twice a week)._

_Rated T. I think I had the entire Disney back catalogue running through my mind when I wrote this so hopefully it'll induce some warm, happy feelings._

* * *

**You're a city that's pulling me still...**

_Get in, get the file, get out. Get in, get the file, get out._

Entirely unaware that her thoughts sounded like those of some kind of government spy, Brennan hovered impatiently outside Booth's door, repeating her "How not to get distracted from work and suckered into spending all day with Booth and Parker" plan over and over again in her mind. Admittedly, it had failed the last four times she'd been round to Booth's apartment on the days when he had his son, but no-one could accuse Temperance Brennan of being a quitter.

_Get in, get the file, get out. Get in-_

"Who it is?"

Her mantra was interrupted by Booth's slightly out-of-breath shout from the other side of the door, and she called back, "It's Brennan."

"What's the password?" a younger but no less out-of-breath voice yelled with authority, only to be answered by a warning from his father.

"Parker..."

There was a brief, inaudible exchange on the other side of the door and Brennan waited patiently to see whether she would be allowed access to whatever tank/spaceship/submarine/wigwam the Booth men had spent their Sunday constructing. Eventually, she heard the sound of the lock being opened, and a small blond head peered suspiciously round the door.

Putting on a smile that she hoped was more Mary Poppins than Child-Catcher (her knowledge of pop culture for the under-tens had improved vastly under Parker's tutelage), Brennan greeted him nervously, "Hello, Parker."

Too late, she noticed the tell-tale glint in his eye, a trait shared by all members of the Booth clan when they were about to do something she would disagree with, but before she could say anything, Parker questioned demandingly, "Are you Princess Tempe from..."

"Jeffersonia," Booth prompted from inside with a stage whisper and a snort of laughter.

"Jeffersonia?" Parker finished, clearly having inherited his father's talent for interrogation. "'Cause if you are then you can come in."

"And if I'm not?" Temperance asked hopefully, still trying to avoid being sucked into this weekend's game.

"Then we have to shoot you," the boy replied with utter sincerity.

Remembering with a smirk the many studies she'd read in which younger members of tribes avenged wrong-doings done to their elders, she relented, deciding not to give Parker the opportunity to take revenge for the time she'd accidentally shot his father in the leg, "Okay, I'm Princess Tempe of Jeffersonia."

The boy's face lit up in a grin, obviously pleased by the game's new recruit, and he pushed the door open, running back over to his father with a shout, "Dad, now we get to play!"

Temperance followed him in, marveling as always at the fact that Booth had turned his apartment upside down in order to create a suitable game for his son. Bedsheets and duvet covers of various sizes and colors were draped across the rooms, hanging from light fittings, doors and shelves to resemble a fortress like environment. His coffee table had been erected as a citadel, his two couches were back to back with the cushions in between them acting as a rocks in a quarry, and the closed curtains and night-lights in Booth's bedroom indicated that it had been transformed into a lair for whatever 'bad guy' the seven-year-old conjured up this time.

Unable to stop herself from smiling at the sight, Brennan wandered into the kitchen, where she found a very excitable Parker and a very flushed Booth, who was kneeling on the floor and was still trying to catch his breath. Seeing her approach, he greeted her with a wry smile, "Good afternoon, Princess."

Glowering at him, she said feebly, "I came to pick up the Woods file for the trial on Tuesday."

Booth grinned. "See, Bones-"

"Princess Tempe," Parker corrected sternly.

"See, _Princess Tempe_, the crucial word in that sentence would be 'Tuesday'. You have the whole of Monday to read through the file. You just came here because you wanted to join in."

Her eyebrows shot up and the protests began, "I came here to get my work, Booth, not to play your games."

Parker just looked at her as though she'd said the world was made out of Spam, unable to comprehend why anybody _wouldn't_ want to join in the game. Registering the look on his son's face, Booth jumped in quickly, letting them both know where they stood, "Well, you're here now, Princess, and since 'here' is the city of Sir Parkalot, you're pretty much stuck playing the game."

Sighing, she dropped her purse to the floor and removed her heels, knowing from past experience that arguments would result in being whined at, nagged and generally pestered by both Booths until she gave in. "Fine." She looked at Parker's plastic sword, bow and suction-cup arrows, and armor made from an old gray t-shirt of his father, and concluded, "So you're Sir Parkalot, I'm Princess Tempe and you're..." She frowned at Booth's outfit of black sweatpants and a black tee. "What are you exactly?"

Glancing down at himself, Booth answered with an air of self-deprecation, "Well, currently I'm veering between the noble steed and the evil Sir Blackheart."

"Sir Blackheart?" she repeated with a barely concealed smile, and Booth shrugged defensively.

"It was the best bad-guy name we could come up with at short notice."

"That says a lot about your creative skills."

"Go on, Miss New-York-Times-Bestsellers; you come up with something."

"Umm, Sir..."_ Think, Temperance, think. Your publishers don't pay you money for nothing. _"Sir Black_beard_?"

Apparently her publishers did pay her for nothing, as she was corrected by the seven-year-old in a way eerily reminiscent of his father, "He's a pirate, Princess Tempe; Blackbeard's a pirate. Sir Blackheart is a mean knight who wants to kidnap the princess."

Having informed the princess of her kidnappee-to-be status, Parker dashed off to his room, leaving Booth to tackle the inevitable question of, "You want to kidnap me?"

The agent/steed/villain just shrugged. "I'm the bad guy, Bones; it's pretty much in the job description."

Pouting slightly, she suggested, "Why don't you kidnap Sir Parkalot?"

"Because Sir Parkalot has to do the saving," Booth pointed out helpfully, before flashing her a cocky grin, "Anyway, you'd make a great damsel in distress."

Brennan glared at him good-naturedly, before retorting, "This coming from a horse?"

"Noble steed, okay, Bones?" he countered, protective of the rank of his horse alter-ego. "I out-rank other horses."

Not surprised to see that Booth's superiority complex was alive and kicking even when he was down on all fours, Temperance's reply was cut off when Parker came bounding back into the room, brandishing a pale pink, floaty scarf and instructing, "You need to wear this, Princess Tempe."

Taking the scarf from the child, Brennan eyed it with amusement before commenting, "I never knew your wardrobe was so varied, Booth."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Parker, does your mom know you borrowed this?"

"Yep."

"And she was okay with you using her favorite scarf in our game?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't happen to sneak it out of her dresser when she wasn't looking?"

"Yep." Parker's eyes widened as he realised what he'd admitted to, and his happy smile vanished, replaced by fear of the game being stopped. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Can we still play? Please?"

Booth ruffled his son's hair in a gesture of reassurance. "Yeah, we can still play, bub. After all, Princess Tempe drove all the way here just so she could join in." Ignoring the "Hmph" from the aggrieved, but now pink-scarfed, Princess Tempe, he said seriously, "But you have to remember to give it back to your mom after school tomorrow, okay?"

The little boy's face brightened again, and he nodded briefly, before turning his attention back to the game, "Okay, now me and Princess Tempe are going to go to her castle, which is..." He scanned the room for something suitably castle-esque. "Next to the waterfall and under the rocky cliffs."

"Next to the bathroom and under the bookshelves," Booth translated quietly for his partner's benefit.

"And to get there," Parker continued, thrilled at the prospect, "we have to get on the noble steed and go through the Valley of the Trolls."

"On my back and between the couches," his father whispered.

Nodding in comprehension, Brennan turned to the child, "I'm not sure if your noble steed can carry us both, Park- Sir Parkalot. How about I walk to my castle, and you ride on your steed?"

Unfortunately, Booth had taught his son manners a little too well, and Sir Parkalot drew his sword, saying gallantly, "But princesses should ride on horses. I'll go ahead and kill any trolls and monsters so they don't eat you."

Not waiting for her agreement, he set off, immediately pouncing on an invisible monster between the couch cushions and battering it thoroughly with his sword, calling back to her, "You can follow me now, Princess Tempe! I'll keep you safe!"

Booth and Brennan just exchanged reluctant glances before Booth dropped to his hands and knees in resignation, "Let's get this over with."

"Are you sure?" she asked, anxiously. "That much pressure on the vertebra would cause a great amount of discomfort for a prolonged period of time, especially with an uneven floor beneath your knees and hands."

"Just get on, _Princess_," he muttered testily, and she gingerly clambered on his back, her legs dangling down either side of him and her hands gripping the back of his tee to try to maintain her balance. Booth let out a groan as she settled into place, before asking in confirmation, "You on?"

Receiving an answer in the affirmative, Booth headed towards the couches while Brennan tried to stay balanced on his back as he moved. Seeing that Parker was engrossed in his enthusiastic slaughter of various imaginary monsters, she asked her partner teasingly, "You know that pony play dream you told me about..."

Booth groaned again, and hissed back at her, "No. Just... no. You do not get to mention pony play in any context, especially not when-"

"I'm riding you like a horse?" she finished with a smug smile.

"Bones..." he whimpered, hoping that she would take pity on him and stop the conversation right there.

However, pity wasn't very high up on her agenda, and she stroked his hair teasingly as she said in contemplation, "I wonder if you would be considered a good pony in pony play terms..."

Dropping his head so it was out of her reach, he said through gritted teeth, "Can we not discuss sexual perversions in front of my seven-year-old son, please? Or, you know, at all?"

"He can't hear us, Booth," she replied patronisingly, clinging on tighter as they headed onto the wobbly cushions/rocks on the valley floor.

"Yeah, but I can," Booth muttered, deciding that the feeling of Brennan's legs wrapped round him were already inducing enough inappropriate thoughts.

These inappropriate thoughts were only exacerbated when she then proceeded to rock her hips forward, saying in a knowing whisper, "Giddy-up."

Turning his head to try to prevent any more horse-oriented dirty talk, Booth promptly lost his balance in the precarious cushion-quarry, and slipped to his elbows as he tried to keep Brennan on his back. This, however, didn't seem to be a problem, since as soon as he started wobbling, the "Princess" let out a panicked yelp, previously unheard of from the respectable Dr Temperance Brennan and attached herself, limpet-like, to Booth's torso by wrapping her legs and arms round his body and hanging on as though her life depended on it.

Producing a sound that was a combination of a derisive snort and an aroused moan at the sensation of her breasts pressed against his back and her legs encircling his hips, Booth pressed on, pushing his way through the cushions and trying to focus on the cheers of his delighted son rather than the somewhat enjoyable pressure of his partner's toes brushing against his crotch.

Eventually, they reached the end, and collapsed in a sweating, panting tangle of limbs, which did nothing to help the problems Booth was currently having. The ever-helpful Sir Parkalot extended a hand to Princess Tempe, extricating her from her partner and leading her over to the arm chair, while leaving his noble steed on the floor to recover from the exertions of the journey.

"Now Princess Tempe has to sit in her castle and sing and brush her hair and do girly stuff so that Sir Blackheart can snatch her," Parker informed her, well aware of precisely how fairytales should progress.

Not having the heart to tell him that a) Sir Blackheart was still in the role of an exhausted horse and b) that she had very little idea of how to act like a princess, she suggested helpfully, "How about I just go to sleep in my castle, while Sir Blackheart plots how he's going to kidnap me?"

Parker cocked his head in thought for a moment, before nodding magnanimously, "Okay, you can go to sleep and Sir Blackheart can snaffle you then."

Skipping over whether 'snaffle' was really an appropriate word to substitute for 'abduct', Temperance settled in her chair, closing her eyes and trying to make out the muffled whispers between the two knights sitting in front of her. Whatever plan had been constructed, it had been constructed quickly since the room soon fell silent, leaving her waiting nervously for the attack to come.

Eyes closed, Temperance strained to make out the sound of Booth approaching, but heard nothing. The scientific part of her wondered how it was possible for someone of Booth's physique to make so little noise, but the rest of her mind couldn't help but wish that, since they were playing at fairytales, Booth would decide to wake up this princess with a kiss. Taking a deep breath, she suddenly caught his scent close by her, and despite the entirely un-erotic reality of the game, she found herself hoping that her shirt was thick enough to hide any evidence of just how much the anticipation was getting to her.

Still hearing nothing from Booth, she let her body relax slightly, trying to get her breathing back under control, when all of a sudden the breath was knocked out of her as she was hoisted into the air with an involuntary shriek.

The shriek was followed by a fit of laughter from Parker, who found the sight of his dad carrying a panicked Princess Tempe in a fireman's lift absolutely hilarious, and she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment as Booth chuckled too, holding her firmly in place as he headed to his lair/bedroom. Sir Parkalot raced in behind them, laughing too hard to speak but not wanting to miss any of the action.

Putting on his best "evil Sir Blackheart" voice, which sounded remarkably like his pirate voice from a few weeks earlier, Booth grinned at his son, saying triumphantly, "A-ha! Princess Tempe of Jeffersonia is now mine!" For added effect, he slapped her playfully on the ass, a task made easy by her position over his shoulder, and was met by a squeak from his partner and another burst of laughter from Parker.

With another piratey growl, he deposited the flailing Brennan on the bed, and said, mostly for Parker's benefit, "Now, I must tie her up, so that she cannot run back to the brave Sir Parkalot!"

"Boooo!" yelled Parker enthusiastically, clearly engrossed in the show happening before his eyes.

Brennan, however, had different priorities, and whispered in disbelief, "You're going to do what?!"

"Relax, Bones," Booth whispered back, with a smile that could have persuaded her to do anything he asked, a fact which she never intended on sharing with him. She met his eyes as he pulled the scarf gently from her hair and slipped it around her wrists, saying softly, "Lie down."

She acquiesced, and he gently raised her wrists above her head, wrapping the scarf around one of the slats in the headboard before saying in the least-subtle and loudest way possible, "Now Princess Tempe cannot get away, unless Sir Parkalot pulls this part of the knot here..." He wiggled the part of the scarf in question in the direction of his son. "Because then he will free Princess Tempe and rule the entire land! Ho ho-" He quickly realised that Santa was not an evil knight, and switched to, "Mwah-ha-ha!"

Enjoying the feel of his warm body over hers, Temperance felt a slight pang of disappointment when Booth moved away from her, but was soon distracted when Parker got to his feet, holding his plastic sword and saying with total conviction, "I'll save you, Princess Tempe!"

Mission declared, he charged at his father, who grabbed a pillow and began to defend himself half-heartedly against the thwacks of the boy, who apparently thought his sword was more effective as a bludgeon rather than an implement for slicing or stabbing. Brennan watched in amusement as the battle raged before her, both participants trying to keep the grins off their faces, and found herself giving a cheer when Sir Parkalot lunged at his opponent's gut, causing Sir Blackheart to drop to the floor with a melodramatic groan of pain.

With an almost excruciating amount of over-acting, Booth gasped feebly, "I... surrender... You... win..."

Giving a crow of victory, Parker clambered up onto the bed and wobbled over to the headboard, careful not to tread on the princess he was supposed to be rescuing. "I saved you, Princess Tempe," he declared proudly, before wrinkling his nose in a puzzled frown as he surveyed the knot.

With some help from the kidnappee, he successfully located the right end of the scarf and pulled it away from the bed, allowing Temperance to sit up and ruffle the boy's hair, saying in her best princess voice, "Thank you, Par- Sir Parkalot." Parker beamed, and she glanced down at Booth, who was now propped up on his elbows, asking uncertainly, "So is Sir Blackheart dead?"

The boy shook his head, "Nope. Sir Parkalot doesn't kill bad guys, but he incatassypates them so that he can put them in jail."

"Incapacitates," Booth corrected gently from the floor, and seeing the look of surprise on Brennan's face at Parker's morals, he nodded to his son, "But you got the rest of it right, kiddo."

Marveling for what felt like the hundredth time today at Booth's skills as a father, she turned to her rescuer and inquired, "What do we do with Sir Blackheart now?"

Prompted by her words, Parker scrambled down from the bed and pulled his father to his feet, saying authoritatively, "You have to go to jail." Sighing, Booth looked suitably contrite as his small son pushed him into the large wardrobe, before closing the door and turning back to Temperance, "And now we get to live happily ever after! Come on!"

Taking her by the hand, he dragged her happily into the lounge, ignoring the protests of the imprisoned Sir Blackheart when his former kidnap victim couldn't resist turning the key in the lock of the wardrobe door as she followed her brave, energetic knight out of the lair.

However, as brave as Sir Parkalot was, the 'energetic' part could only last so long, and 'happily ever after' soon ended when he curled up in the large leather arm-chair with a contented smile on his lips, exhausted by the excitement of the day.

Easing herself off the floor, Brennan made her way carefully back through the chaos of the apartment, her own eyes heavy with sleep. A smile came over her face when she unlocked the wardrobe, finding Booth sitting on an uncomfortable-looking pile of shoes and squinting up at her as she opened the door, saying sarcastically, "Because you nearly breaking my back just wasn't enough today, was it?"

Her smile widened as she parroted his own words back to him teasingly, "You make a great damsel in distress."

Booth dragged himself to his feet, rolling his eyes. "So that makes you what? Prince Charming? 'Cause no offense, Bones, but you don't look much like a prince to me."

She caught the momentary flicker of his eyes down her body at these words, and folded her arms under her breasts with a smile. "I wasn't planning on being either, Booth. I came here for that file, remember?"

A challenging glint came into his eyes, and he stepped out of the wardrobe, coming closer towards her as he said, only half-joking, "You never came here for that file, Bones; we both know it could've waited till tomorrow."

Uncomfortable, she stepped back, saying quickly, "So why did I come then? Just to join in your childish games with your son?"

The ridicule she'd intended to lace the suggestion with somehow didn't materialise, and Booth approached her again, his voice low and sincere, "Yeah, you did, Bones. You think I've not noticed how each time you show up, you get less and less reluctant to play?"

"That's because I know you'll force me-"

"Or how you never seem to smile as much at work as you do here?"

"My work involves human remains; it's hardly-"

"Or how far out of your way you'll go to have some excuse to spend the weekend with me?"

She raised her eyebrows at his cocky assertion. "You've got a pretty high opinion of yoursel-"

However, Booth didn't wear that belt for nothing, and he moved in closer, noting with relief that she didn't back away. "Did you think I didn't notice how badly you wanted me to kiss you in that chair?"

Her voice caught in her throat, any false comebacks or denials burned away by his stare. Struggling to find words, she stammered, "Booth, I-"

His lips were on hers before she could say any more. Stunned, she froze in his arms, and he wondered for a second whether the day's fairytale would end with the princess kicking the ass of the presumptuous, overly-forward knight. However, as much as Princess Tempe differed from other storybook heroines, this was one stereotype she wasn't about to contest.

Resisting all temptation to pull away and begin to analyse, Temperance decided to succumb briefly to the childhood dreams of princes and true love. Knowing all good fairytales ended with a kiss, she let herself get lost in Booth's arms, believing, even for a second, that there could be such a thing as happily ever after.

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_Reviews make me very happy._


	26. Keep Me from Sleeping

_A/N: I'd just to like to apologise for the review replies I sent out this week. I have no idea what was wrong with me, but I sounded remarkably like a crazy lady. Honestly, I'm not. Please keep reviewing. :) _

_This one's rated a fairly strong T, and is technically the follow-up to chaptory 18. If you don't remember chaptory 18, it was the one where B&B were going undercover together and getting their back-story straight. If you still don't remember, it really doesn't matter; all you need to know is that this one revolves around B&B sharing Booth's bed._

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**You keep me from sleeping...**

**11.31pm**

_Parker. Little league. Baseball. Bases. Sex. Bones._

_Weather. Storms. Rain. Wet. Sex. Bones._

_DIY. Hammers. Nails. Pounding. Sex. Bones._

Sighing quietly in order not to wake his partner, Booth clenched his fists as he lay on his back, wishing he wasn't quite so good at _Six Degrees of Sex with Bones_. Closing his eyes, he let his breathing even out, trying not to inhale the scent of the woman next to him and trying to direct his current Boy Scout impression away from the pitching of tents.

However, every time his eyelids drifted shut, all he saw was the image of Brennan leaning innocently against the bathroom door, trying to persuade him to give up his favored left side of the bed for her. Or, at least, that's what he thought she was trying to persuade him to do. As far as he was concerned, she could've talked him into signing away his soul since his attention was entirely focused on the lilac, silky negligee which she just happened to be wearing at the time and which just happened to cling delicately to the soft curves of her breasts, leaving both everything and nothing to the imagination.

Contradiction or not, Booth's imagination was not about to refuse a challenge, and had spent the last twenty minutes in blissful contemplation while the rest of his mind tried in vain to hold back the barrage of unpartnerlike thoughts, a task akin to holding back a charging elephant with party streamers.

_Think non-erotic thoughts,_ prompted the part of his mind which currently subscribed to the"Let's State the Obvious" school of thought. _She's your partner. She's sleeping peacefully in your bed. She's probably not aware that you are mentally ogling her. She'd definitely kick your ass if she was aware._

Wondering briefly if it was even possible to 'ogle' someone when you had your eyes shut, Booth forced his upper body to relax against the mattress, hoping his lower body would follow suit, and began the time-honored tradition of counting sheep-kangaroo hybrids who seemed to leap happily over an imaginary gate.

_One sheep, no sex with Bones. Two sheep, no sex with Bones. Three sheep, no sex with Bones..._

**12.10am**

_"We thank you oh-so-sweetly..."_

Snore.

_"For doing it so neatly..."_

Snore.

_"You killed her so completely..."_

Snore.

_"That we thank you oh-so-"_

Before the small army of dream-munchkins could finish their song, their particular version of Dorothy felt herself being dragged back to reality by a truly colossal snore from beside her. Blinking away the images of ruby slippers, flattened witches and musically-inclined little people which had been haunting her ever since Angela had forced her to sit down and "appreciate American culture", Brennan rolled over and looked at her partner in annoyance.

Evidently unaware of her judgmental glare, the noise continued unabated, with Booth seemingly intent on rousing the dead with the sheer ferocity of his snores. The thought of waking him up gently and asking him politely not to snore was quickly dismissed by Brennan's tired and grouchy mind, which instead prompted her to lean over and pinch his nose shut with calculated ruthlessness.

His next breath in was met with an obstruction and she couldn't hide the smirk on her face as he woke with a jerk, gasping for breath as she removed her hand. The smirk vanished upon seeing his uncharacteristically vulnerable expression as he looked at her in confusion, like a child whose candy had just been snatched and stamped on by a school-yard bully. Not enjoying the feeling of guilt, she defended herself half-heartedly, "You were snoring."

He blinked at her before saying with contrition, "I'm sorry. I just... I was sleeping on my back so I didn't get too close to your side of the bed."

The kicked-puppy look on his face quickly superseded her previous irritation, and indeed, her previous common sense, as she relented, "Just sleep how you want, Booth. We're adults, I'm sure we can manage to comfortably share a two-person bed."

"Are you sure? Because I don't want you to feel-"

"It's fine," she reiterated tiredly. "Now go to sleep." _And stop looking at me like I just ran over your pet._

Booth didn't need any more persuasion and shifted gladly onto his side, closing his eyes and saying drowsily, "Night, Bones."

"Night, Booth," she replied out of habit, turning away from him and letting the soft pillow welcome her back to Munchkinland.

**1.24am**

_Is it wrong that I'm enjoying this?_

Staring ahead of her at the mahogany dresser that flanked Booth's bedroom wall, Brennan shifted backward slightly, enjoying the feel of his warm body pressed against hers. Apparently Booth had lied earlier when she asked him whether he snuggled in bed since, upon being given permission to sleep how he wanted, he had slowly but surely maneuvered his way across the bed and was now snuggling like a champion.

_It's not wrong, _Brennan told herself optimistically. _Humans crave warmth, and Booth just happens to be very warm. It's simply a matter of comfort; there is nothing sexual in this type of bodily contact, and therefore it's perfectly alright for me to be enjoying it._

However, a sleepy squeeze from Booth reminded her exactly why she was enjoying this so much.

After three years of working together, Brennan and a fully-conscious Booth had only ever made it to first base, and only then with the help of a shrub, some festive spirit, and an oddly voyeuristic lawyer. Semi-conscious Booth was a different matter though, given that he was already rounding second after a little over two hours.

Another possessive squeeze drew Brennan's attention back to the matter that was quite literally in hand, and she couldn't stop herself settling back against her partner, his arm around her body and his hand cupping her breast firmly. Sighing, Temperance's eyes glazed over in sleepy contentment as his hand moved against the silk of her nightdress, her nipple achingly tight in the join between his thumb and index finger as he played with it unknowingly.

_He doesn't even know what he's doing, _she reminded herself sternly._ It's like I'm taking advantage of him, which is practically sexual assault. _She swallowed hard at the sensation of another squeeze and Booth's lower body pressing closer to hers. _Okay, this definitely isn't assault-like. It's just sexual assault without the assault, which would be-_

_Oh._

_Is it wrong that I'm enjoying this?_

**2.03am**

_Ow..._

Feeling a sharp sensation of pain in his feet, Booth snapped awake quickly, memories of both nightmares and events he wished were nightmares submerging his brain in fear. Disoriented, he froze for a few seconds as he struggled to regain his bearings, before eventually realising that he was in the safe and familiar surroundings of his bedroom. When his breathing evened out and his heart stopped hammering in his ears, he wiggled his feet, trying to reassure himself that it was simply a phantom pain.

This reassurance didn't come, the soft flesh of his foot meeting instead with the strangely pointy toenails of a certain forensic anthropologist. Frowning, Booth moved to turn over, only to roll straight into Brennan's fist, which rested in the center of his pillow. Whimpering to himself, Booth stumbled out of the bed to assess the situation and quickly deduced three things.

One: His partner, for some reason unknown to him, had given up her treasured left side of the bed, and moved round to sleep on the right of him.

Two: She clearly thought a starfish was an excellent role model for sleeping positions.

Three: As a result of this face-down, starfish-inspired sprawl, there was no way in hell that he would be able to get in his own bed.

When it had made these observations, and instead of concocting a cunning plan to reclaim his bed, Booth's mind was distracted by an entirely different realisation.

_Holy mother of God, it's cold._

Wrapping his bare arms around his wifebeater-clad torso, Booth shifted to let the bottoms of his sweatpants fall over his toes in order to keep him from losing them to frostbite in the duvet-free coldness of his bedroom. Bitterly, he glared at his warm, slumbering partner, trying to decide whether the 'warm' or the 'slumbering' part of that description annoyed him more.

_How is this fair? She's evicted me from my own bed._

The optimistic part of his brain, which sounded remarkably like his mother after a glass of scotch, answered cheerfully, _Yes, but if she wasn't here, you'd be sleeping in the nude. At least you've got pajamas to keep you warm while you're standing here._

This rationale was quickly quashed by the more logical part of his brain, which this time took on the voice of the bed-usurperess in question, _If she hadn't commandeered your bed, you wouldn't be standing here in the first place. You'd be warm, asleep and happily naked._

Feeling confused, chilly and mildly schizophrenic, Booth moved quickly round to the right side of the bed, figuring his partner would be more likely to roll to the coveted left side if given the chance. Sending up a brief prayer that his duvet-reclamation plan would be a success, he then gripped the edge of the covers and lifted them slightly so that Brennan's foot and hand were exposed to the cold air.

Like a tortoise retreating into its shell, she instinctively moved her extremities back under the warmth of the covers and a triumphant grin spread across Booth's face. _Ha! You see that there, Bones? That's what's called a plan._

Flushed with success, he continued to slowly lift the blankets until the anthropologist's splayed limbs had returned to her own side, leaving Booth enough space to get into his own bed.

However, just as the road to hell is paved with good intentions, the road to inappropriate peeking is paved with the desire for warmth.

As he lifted up the covers, Booth couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the creamy skin of his partner's upper thigh, her negligee riding up to rest just below the curve of her ass. Before his mind could register that no, this was not one of his admittedly many and varied fantasies, he'd lifted his arms again, exposing her ass fully to the cold air and giving him a perfect view of her slightly spread legs and silk-draped behind.

She shifted at the feel of the cool air wafting under the raised duvet, and Booth, in the words of the song his partner had happily sung along to on the way from work, promptly dropped it like it was hot, before slipping under it himself and mentally slapping himself for being so opportunistically lecherous.

_I was sleepy. I didn't know what I was doing. It was an accident. I would never intentionally take advantage of a sleeping Bones in that way, even if her body did look amazing in that slinky, silky-_

_I'm going to hell._

**2.57am**

_I'm going crazy._

Feeling the familiar warmth of Booth's body pressed up behind her, and his arm draped in a snuggly yet possessive fashion over her stomach, Temperance woke up to a severe case of deja vu.

_I've dealt with this already, _she thought, annoyed. _I got out of bed, got really cold, but moved round to the other side so neither of us would be taking advantages of any kind. This is like Warthog day. _She paused in contemplation. _Do I mean Warthog? _She gave a mental shrug. _Sounds as plausible as any other kind of hog._

Sighing, she lay still for a moment, listening to her partner's peaceful breathing and feeling gooseflesh prickle her neck as his breath caressed her skin. His hand rested comfortably on her lower belly, and she let her head sink back into the fluffy depths of the pillow, deciding that as long as there was no intimate touching of any kind, snuggling was condoned by Temperance Brennan's Rules of Partnerlike Behavior.

However, as though rebelling at the mere psychic mention of a rule, Booth's hand shifted downward, his arm resting just below her hips and his fingers settling contentedly in the warm groove between her thighs.

_Not good..._

Booth's heat-seeking fingers were apparently pleased by the new source of warmth and nestled further between her thighs, causing Brennan to bite back a surprised but happy yelp as he rubbed against the front of her panties.

_Okay, good in the physical sense, but definitely not good in the moral sense. I really should move..._

Her body, deciding that her brain spent a lot of its time being overly literal, did indeed move. Backward. Toward Booth and his inadvertently wandering hands.

_Away. Move away, _her mind instructed again, somewhat lacking in conviction as Brennan couldn't help but enjoy the pressure exerted by his fingers. _Away! If you really thought this was right, you'd be doing it while he was awake._

Conceding reluctantly to her overly-smug conscience, Temperance eased herself out of Booth's arms before turning round to face him and debating the merits of vaulting over her partner as opposed to venturing out of the duvet into the frozen wastes for the second time that night. Remembering the flimsy, thermally-challenged nature of her attire, the choice quickly changed to a single possible course of action and she looked at Booth with the same steely determination as someone facing Mt Everest.

_Now, what's the best way to do this?_

Realising that all options involved mounting her partner in one way or another, Brennan decided to employ the "Do it fast and hope he doesn't notice" method of scaling Mt Booth. Rolling onto her stomach, she raised herself up on her left elbow and knee, carefully lowering her right hand and foot down to the mattress on the other side of Booth until she was on her hands and knees. Straddling Booth. In his bed.

This realisation became too much for her, and she hurriedly lifted her other limbs over, not wanting to explain to an awoken Booth that she was on top of him as a direct result of his fingers traveling somewhere south of her hips.

However, her co-ordination at 3am left much to be desired, and her leg caught Booth's hip on the way over, rolling him onto his back while she collapsed on top of him, half her body on his and half on the intended target of the mattress.

_Think of a reason, think of a reason, think of a-_

Snore.

_He's still asleep?_

Snore.

_He's still asleep?!_

Snore.

_And he's snoring..._

Grateful that she didn't have to give a full and complete account of the Mt Booth expedition, Temperance just let her head drop onto her partner's shoulder, too tired to deal with the snoring issue at present. Curling contentedly against his side, she felt her eyes drifting shut as she was lulled to sleep by the slow rise and fall of her muscular pillow.

Just before she dropped off to sleep, a small smile flickered over her lips as she realised that, even when sharing a bed, their partnership was just the same as ever. In the course of one night, they had argued, bickered, waged small wars over territory and indulged in some unpartnerlike, but undeniably enjoyable, intimacy, before finally settling on a happy medium regarding their sleeping arrangements. Satisfied with the conclusion, she relaxed fully in Booth's arms, her brain making one final observation before switching off for the night.

_I could get used to this._

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_Reviews sadly cannot make me as happy as snuggling with Booth, but if you click the little button, they'll definitely make a valiant attempt. :)_

_Also, if I've not heard from you for a while/ever, please consider giving the button a press to let me know you're (still) reading. This fic's got a way to go yet and all feedback is greatly appreciated._


	27. Strengthen My Will

_A/N: Sorry it's been such a long wait for an update on this one, but I was using a very rare amount of free time to finish up an old multi-chap. And write a strange little Hodgela story. And indulge in a gratuitously smutty BB oneshot. But I was pretty much pining for this fic the whole time, so I'm very happy to be continuing it, especially as there are still a bunch of lyrics to go. So again, sorry for the wait and huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter._

_The basic idea for this one comes courtesy of_ Bella-mi-amore_, who wanted a series of other oneshots based around a similar theme. I'm relatively happy to write more for different episodes, since I've got a whole bunch of ideas floating around, so call this a test-run, with any thoughts or comments on a separate continuation gratefully received. Rated K, with some dialogue from Mummy in the Maze. I know the story's a little odd, but please give it a shot!_

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**And strengthen my will...**

Alan Morrison was not having a good week.

It all started the previous Thursday when he'd agreed to look after his sister's rabbit and guinea pig while she, her husband and their two precocious daughters went skiing in New Hampshire. With great reluctance, he had accommodated Flopsy the rabbit and Butch the guinea pig in their wooden hutch in his small garden, promising faithfully to do whatever necessary (aka the minimum possible) to keep the two large furry rodents alive until his sister returned. However, the family's plane had barely left the runway when, much to Alan's disbelief, Flopsy had decided that carrots just weren't enough for a growing rabbit and so had tried to chow down on Butch.

After a brief, botched attempt at constructing a Hannibal-Lecter-style mask for Flopsy out of chicken wire and sticky tape, he finally gave in and spent half the remainder of his month's paycheck on a separate Butch hutch, thus preventing the beloved family pets from becoming snacker and snackee, and simultaneously dooming himself to a week spent eating lentils until his next paycheck came through.

His week had not improved with a visit of his soon-to-be mother-in-law over the weekend, who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in taking him through each room of the house in turn and pointing out exactly what was wrong with the decoration, DIY jobs and furnishings. She also helpfully offered her opinion on his new car ("Did you actually choose that color or was it on a discount?"), his birthday present for his fiancee ("Sadie never used to like that type of art"), and even his haircut, ("Short hair really doesn't suit round faces, dear").

Her eventual cackling departure on Sunday was followed by an argument with his fiancee, during which he had unfortunately intimated that if he never saw the evil old witch again it would be too soon. This statement then resulted in him receiving silent treatment for the next two days. And finally, the Week from Hell was rounded off by his least favorite holiday of all: Halloween.

Not that he had anything against the holiday in principle. To him, any chance for children to opportunistically coerce candy from neighbors by means of colorful costumes was something to be celebrated. However, the fun of Halloween was diminished somewhat when his ever-malicious supervisor signed him up to work that evening in revenge for Alan inadvertently purloining the last of her fat-free yogurts from the communal refrigerator.

For police dispatchers like Alan, Halloween was one of the worst nights of the year. Not only were there far more calls than usual, but they were almost always relating to one of three stock scenarios.

Scenario one: A phone call from a little old lady/concerned neighbor/anxious person who was complaining about teenagers using the holiday to be noisy, threatening and generally disruptive. This scenario was easily solved by sending a patrol car to simply drive once through the affected area, and Alan often heard chuckling policemen report back to him that the troublemakers had taken off like horses in the Kentucky Derby.

Scenario two: A phone call from a high-pitched mother informing him that her child had been kidnapped from right under her nose as they were out trick-or-treating. These calls were typical followed by an excruciatingly long attempt to calm down the distressed parent, and ended when said parent stumbled upon little Jimmy tucked under a bush somewhere on his way to Sugar-High City.

Scenario three: An automatic alert from a store telling him that some genius robbers had clearly thought store alarms would be disabled in the spirit of Halloween and had therefore chosen this night to go steal things. This scenario generally played out like the most simple form of cops and robbers, with the cops showing up, catching the robbers in the act and bundling them off to jail before returning to the same street later that night when other stunningly originally thieves had the same idea.

So far, the messages he'd taken that evening had done nothing to improve his dislike of the the holiday or the misfortunes of his week in generally. Sliding his headphones off, he stood up from his computer, stretching tiredly after three hours spent staring at the familiar screen as he co-ordinated some of the various dispatches around the city. Deciding it was time for a break, he mimed drinking coffee to his supervisor before walking over to the coffee machine to join his friend Larry Mitchell, who looked just as nonplussed with the shift choice as Alan himself was.

Putting a paper cup under the spout, he pressed the requisite buttons as Larry asked tiredly, "You had anything interesting so far?"

Alan shook his head with a dejected shrug, "Nope. Best one I've had all evening is an old lady up in Georgetown who was convinced goblins had sprung out of the sewers."

His friend chuckled, sipping his coffee before contributing, "I had two cops radio in about suspected trouble at a Krispy Kreme store."

"And how is that interesting?" Alan asked morosely, running his hand through his short ginger hair.

"The same squad car then went to 'investigate' further disturbances at Dairy Queen, Dunkin' Donuts and Burger King," he replied with a grin. "Guess they were doing their own version of trick or treating."

Alan managed a half-hearted smile at the news, inquiring conversationally, "Which car?"

"24-8-0-2," Larry responded knowingly, and his friend nodded in amused recognition.

"The Cake-off team?"

"The one and only," the blond man responded with a grin. "Must be the only cops in DC to get involved in a standoff for the sake of pastries."

Smiling at the many frantic status updates that day, the highlights of which were 'We are now being pelted with croissants' and 'They're setting fire to the pastries! Dispatch, we're going in!', Alan picked up his coffee as he pondered, "You heard anything from the Hall of Fame tonight?"

Dejected, Larry shook his head, "Looks like all is quiet on the entertainment front tonight, my friend. None of them have radioed anything in yet."

Alan sighed, glancing up at the small community noticeboard behind them, affectionately known as the Hall of Fame. This venerable institution was a long-standing tradition among the dispatchers and they made sure to scribble accounts of their most amusing radio conversations on the board. Since the merger of the DCPD dispatch division with that of the FBI, they had introduced a hall of fame for the top five agents or cops who pretty much struck gold every time they picked up their radio. If one of the members of the ever-changing Hall of Fame were on duty, the dispatchers were pretty much guaranteed something amusing to listen to amid the dull routine of their jobs.

Scanning the board, he swallowed a mouthful of coffee before pointing to a photo and asking, "Isn't Officer Addams out tonight?"

"Nope," Larry answered simply. "He's out on a date with one of the morning-shift workers."

"Anna?"

"No, that's was last month," his friend informed him. "He just broke up with Rachel and he's out tonight with Charlotte."

"Charlotte?" he inquired, not remembering a colleague by that name.

"Yeah, you know Charlotte. Started two weeks ago, blonde, very petite." Recognition wasn't dawning and Larry tried again, "She slapped Roger for making 'sexual advances'?"

"Oh, that Charlotte," Alan said with a grin before another thought occurred, "Wait, she slaps Roger for saying 'hello' but then goes on a date with Dispatch-is-my-Dating-Hotline Addams?"

Swallowing another mouthful of coffee, the blond man said with a note of admiration, "He does have a very good radio voice."

Alan raised his eyebrows. "Something you want to tell me, Larry?"

Larry just glared at him. "Funny, Morrison. Very funny. Tell me, you drive any more rodents to cannibalism today?"

His friend just elbowed him firmly in the arm, drinking more coffee as he looked up at the newest member in the Hall of Fame with a frown, "Who's Wilson?"

A smug smile crossed Larry's face and he gave Alan his full attention, his tone one of superior knowledge, "Agent Wilson is a rookie at the Bureau who just got given his own company car this weekend."

"That's great, Larry, but why is he suddenly Number One on the board?"

"Because," he began with the air of an excited storyteller, "I got a broadcast through from him on Monday that he was going to apprehend a suspect on a possible murder charge." He grinned. "The next broadcast I got from his vehicle was a mentally unstable murder suspect boasting that he'd stolen an FBI Agent's car."

Alan couldn't stop the snort of amusement that escaped him. "Seriously?"

His colleague nodded proudly, "Yep. There is a twenty minute recording of a crazed murder suspect driving round DC, in the car of a Federal Agent, singing "Row-Row-Row Your Boat" while accompanied by the sirens of chasing cop cars." He sipped his coffee. "It's a thing of beauty. Part of me wants to make a montage and put it on YouTube."

The red-headed dispatcher laughed. "So Agent Wilson gets the top spot?"

"For now. Turns out the FBI took the vehicle away from him once the crazy guy was caught; Wilson'll be lucky if he gets a company tricycle before he's thirty." He looked back up at the board. "Nope, your guy should be back on top in no time. And speaking of time..." Larry glanced at the clock across the room. "We should really get back to work. See how many more kids mysteriously disappear and reappear during trick-or-treat."

With a resigned sigh, Alan poured the rest of his paintstripper-disguised-as-coffee down the sink before following his buddy back to their work stations, praying for some sort of excitement to enliven the otherwise monotonous shift ahead of him. Slumping back in his seat, he donned his headset before flicking on the call processing button so that he might get his very own food-oriented cops or robbery-in-progress alert.

"Dispatch, 22-7-0-5."

The tune of "It's a Wonderful World" suddenly began to waltz through his mind at the familiar code of the usual Number One on the Dispatchers' Hall of Fame. _I see trees of green, red roses too..._

"22-7-0-5, Dispatch," he replied out of habit. _I see them bloom, for me and you..._

"22-7-0-5 requests back-up and local units at Aloha Flowers between Friendship Heights and Bethesda."

_And I think to myself..._

"Oh. Please be advised that agents are UC dressed as a squint... and Wonder Woman."

_What a wonderful world..._

A broad smile spread across Alan Morrison's face as Special Agent Seeley Booth's admission filtered through his headphones, and he immediately made the mental note to move the agent back up to his rightful place at the top of the Hall of Fame for a truly stellar track record of Dispatch calls.

Booth had first made his way onto the board approximately two years earlier after a very sheepish call to inform Dispatch that not only was a murder suspect being carted away in a ambulance with a bullet in his leg, but that Booth himself was bringing in his own civilian partner on charges of assault with a deadly weapon. Since then he'd been a regular fixture, with incidents ranging from offending the Tactical Ops Team by apparently doing clock impressions at them, to his cheerful partner commandeering his radio to inform them that she was taking Agent Booth to the hospital because he'd been "a little bit tortured".

Alan's personal favorite aural encounter with the agent had been six months earlier, when Booth's attempts to say that he was bringing a suspect, Max Keenan, into custody were interrupted by heckles from the old man in question, claiming that he had kicked the agent's ass in a fight he made sound like a WWF smackdown. However, the current costume revelation was now vying for top spot in the List of Agent Booth's Comedic Dispatch Messages, and Alan grabbed Larry's elbow as the other man moved to sit down, dragging him over to his work station while he spoke into the headphones, "Repeat, 22-7-0-5."

The two colleagues listened intently as Booth's voice came over the headphones, both of them trying to suppress outbursts of laughter, "Just picture a scientist, nerd, brainiac, dweeb, dork, whatever."

"And Wonder Woman," came another muffled but clearly insistent voice which reminded Alan of his nagging mother-in-law-to-be.

"And Wonder Woman," the agent repeated reluctantly, and Larry pulled away, breaking into fits of laughter as his colleague tried to keep a straight face.

"Acknowledge, 22-7-0-5," he finished, desperate to end the conversation before he laughed straight at him.

The crackle of the radio was replaced with silence, indicating the end of the conversation, and he finally let himself laugh out loud, swiftly dispatching two local police units to the requested location as he pictured with amusement the sight of Wonder Woman and a brainiac charging in to fight crime together.

When the actual public-safety part of his job had been accomplished, he pulled off the headset again, moving quickly back to the noticeboard with Larry as he asked smugly, "So, does Agent Booth get to reclaim the top spot now?"

His friend nodded, grinning, "You got no arguments from me. I don't even know why we bother with the competition anymore."

Still smiling himself, Alan reached up, tugging the two Post-It covered ID pictures off the wall and demoting Agent Wilson to second place as Booth regained the top spot. Chuckling to himself, he scribbled a quick account of their conversation on another Post-It note and stuck it on the wall, feeling incredibly grateful to Agent Booth and his seemingly ever-present partner for making both Halloween and his terrible week that little more bearable.

Turning to go back to his seat and resume his shift, he was stopped when his colleague blocked his way, lips pursed in contemplation as he asked, "He said that him and his scientist partner were dressed up as a scientist and Wonder Woman, right?"

"Yep, he said Wonder Woman and a squint," Alan confirmed, wondering what his point was.

A full-on grin broke out on Larry's face as he pondered, "I wonder which one was which."

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_Comments, feedback and general thoughts would be much welcomed as always. Thanks for reading!_


	28. The Gates are Strong

_A/N: Okay, explanation time. This was originally posted a couple of days ago on lj as part of the Booth Express Parody Challenge, and I wasn't planning on posting it here too. However, I'm having a busy week and a case of writer's block with this title, so I decided to stick this here so I can get on with the next chapter when I have some spare time. Hopefully that sounds fair/makes sense to everyone, and apologies to those who have already read this (although there is now a new part somewhere in the middle.)_

_Rated a strong T. **This is a parody so please don't take it seriously. **No offense intended with any of the references - I'm guilty of most of them myself. Non-parody chaps will be back next time._

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**The gates they are strong...**

"Bones, we have a case."

Looking up from the remains in front of her, Brennan couldn't help but smile as her partner strolled through the doors to the Medico-Legal lab. Sure, there was a corpse which had been hacked into little pieces by a rusty machete lying on the table in front of her, but apparently her libido was the equivalent of the Energizer Bunny and simply could not be stopped. Resisting the urge to tackle-hug her devastatingly-attractive partner, pin him down and go at it like rabbits who'd snuck into the Viagra factory for snacks, she settled instead for simply watching as he approached.

Eyes roaming hungrily over his body in a not-technically-objectifying-because-that's-morally-wrong fashion, she tried to find a part of his body that she'd yet to fantasize about this week. _Hands? Check. Arms? Check. Head, shoulders, knees and toes? Check. Socks? Check. Belt-buckle? Check. Handcuffs? Check, as, although I don't believe in sex needing accoutrements, I'd still very much enjoy handcuffing him to the bed. Yum. Where was I? Oh, cologne? Check. Tie? Check. Pools-of-melted-chocolate (aka eyes)? Check._ She sighed to herself. _And it's still only Tuesday._

Wrinkling her brow in her patented I'd-like-your-fork-to-get-stuck-in-my-toaster look, she looked again, trying to find something she hadn't covered yet. As if on cue but actually by total coincidence, Booth pulled his poker chip out of his pocket, flipping it idly while he waited for his partner to finish daydreaming/drooling so that they could concentrate on the case. Obviously he didn't mind waiting for this, since solving real murders ranked somewhere below having sex with Bones, taking his son to the zoo, sharing painful memories about his past with surprising candor, and never ever going anywhere near Cam ever again. Ever.

Meanwhile, Brennan had settled on the poker chip and was now fantasizing to her heart's content. Ordinarily, she would have made the anthropological connection between the circular shape of the poker chip and the anthropological significance of the circle as a feminine shape in the same way that, anthropologically, things that were described as being phallic-shaped corresponded to men. However, all her training, knowledge and sophistication vacated her mind when she was having sexual thoughts about Booth, allowing her stream of consciousness to follow a much simpler path. _Circle. Round. Pancakes. Maple Syrup. Maple-syrup-covered Booth. Mmmh..._

Somewhat aptly, her eyes glazed over and a contented smile played on her lips, her mind now vacillating at random intervals between clinical-sounding anthropologist and a sex-line worker, _Mmmh, yes. I could take the syrup and let it drizzle ever so slowly across his transverse abdominals and other muscles that I've not mentioned before. Then I could let my tongue swirl over his skin as he growls my first name in a slightly-animalistic-but-mostly-really-hot way. And then, since that'll undoubtedly be enough foreplay for both of us, we can fall to the floor and sexual-intercourse each other's central-nervous-systems out._ She smiled brightly, pleased with her concoction. _Yep, that'll do nicely tonight when I'm touching myself and wishing it was him. Excellent._

Satisfied with her plan for future Boothgasms, Brennan finally turned her attention to her partner. "A case?"

"Yep," the agent replied with a smile, pocketing his chip and stepping forward. "We got a body."

Her face fell slightly. "Oh. I was hoping for a drug bust."

Booth placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sorry, Bones. But face it, when do we ever have a case which _doesn't_ involve me telling you we've got a body?"

She folded her arms, pouting. "Well, you still don't have to say it like it's some kind of revelation."

Booth looked overly perplexed by her use of a word with more than three-syllables, despite the fact that he seemed perfectly intelligent the rest of the time, but responded with a Charm Smile (patent pending), "Sorry. Didn't mean to get your hopes up."

Fully aware that the CS could make her forgive him anything from leaving her to look after his son for a week to accidentally getting her pregnant with adorable twins who looked so much like both of them, Brennan opted not to fight its magical powers and gave in. "It's fine. Are we going to go see the remains now so that you can pull faces about how disgusting it is?"

"Nah," he replied with a shrug. "All that would accomplish is you spouting off loads of technical words which I'd have to go do research for, and then we'd move the body back to the lab and get on with the important part of the case. How about I just give you a handy summary now so that we can get on with it?"

"Sounds logical. Fire aroad."

"Fire away, Bones," he corrected tiredly. "Fire away." He paused. "Did you just make up that word to get it wrong on purpose?"

Brennan lowered her eyes guiltily. "Maybe." _Can I help it if you're hot when you're correcting me?_

Shaking his head, he got down to business. "We think there's a serial killer operating in a neighborhood in North-East DC."

"How big of an area do you mean?"

"A neighborhood-sized area."

"Which part of DC?"

"The part that's North and then East a bit."

"Does it have a name?"

"Sure it does. North-East DC."

"'Kay."

"'Kay?" Booth eyed her suspiciously. "Aren't you going to ask how we got to the serial killer conclusion?"

Brennan shrugged. "I was just going to go with it. I know how much you hate doing research."

Not about to turn down a Get Out of Research Free card, he continued, "Anyway, we think this serial killer used to be an assassin for one of the many, many mob families which operate here in DC. The We-Provide-Random-Information-On-Mafia-Dons Team at the FBI think he worked for the Dorito family."

"The Doritos? Have we dealt with them before?"

Booth nodded. "Yep. They're affiliated with the Cheeto, Frito, Tostito and Pringle families."

"Pringles?"

"They're new," he explained with a grin. "They used to associate more with the Linguine, Fusilli and Tagliatelle families before they got kicked out for breaking too easily under pressure."

The respectable, highbrow part of her groaned inwardly at the terrible joke, while the other, horny-as-hell part decided that anything said in that smooth, silky voice of his was enough to turn her on. Sighing softly to herself, she directed the conversation back on topic, "What does this have to do with the serial killer?"

Flipping open his suddenly-present file, Booth read aloud, "The victims were all married couples who lived in the same area and who were all killed by a gunshot wound to the head after the killer had tied them up and explained his plan to them in full. Coincidentally, all the male victims were six-foot-one with soft dark hair, deep brown eyes and tanned skin, while all the female victims were five-nine with gently curled auburn hair, enchanting blue eyes and porcelain skin. So, Cullen's sending us undercover on the off-chance that the killer might come after us."

Temperance frowned, trying hard to remember who Cullen even was after not seeing him for two years. Attempting to hide the fact that she was almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of being married to, sharing a house with, and sleeping in the same bed as Seeley Booth, she inquired with heretofore unheard of logic, "But I'm not with the FBI. Surely there must be hundreds of other agents who would be better-trained or more suitable for undercover work than us?"

Her partner gave her his familiar you-may-be-a-very-hot-genius-scientist-but-sometimes-you-act-like-you're-challenged look. "Bones, Cullen requested us for this. Remember Cullen? The guy whose daughter we helped a while ago but who hasn't been back since because no-one can work out if he would actually like you now? My boss, Cullen? If anyone would know that we're the only two people in the entire FBI who could solve this case, it'd be him."

She nodded slowly. "That's rational." _God bless you, Cullen.__ I may be an atheist, but since I plan on screaming "__Oh __Gaw__d, __Se__eee__el__eeee__ey__!" in bed when I'm having sex with Booth on this undercover mission, I may as well convert now. Next stop: a big church wedding. __Yay! _She took a deep breath. _Dammit__, Temperance; focus. _"So what do we do?"

Booth seemed confused as to why she was confused. Or at least, that's what she thought he was confused about. Booth appeared to spend a lot of his time being confused. Nevertheless, he pulled it together, obviously using one of his assorted sniper senses, and replied matter-of-factly, "We move in together in a house that the FBI has already filled with furniture, because dozens of agents loading our belongings into a house wouldn't seem suspicious at all."

"No more than a best-selling author going undercover and not being recognized by anybody," she agreed, smiling warmly at him.

"Right. Then we spend some time meeting the neighbors and fitting into the neighborhood, but we don't have to worry about jobs, or money, or cover stories, or anything practical because the killer will come and kidnap us on the second night."

_Meet neighbors, no jobs, get kidnapped. Yep, I'm following so far. Wait… _"The _second_ night?"

He nodded. "Yep. Because on the first night, we'll share a bed together. You'll wake up scared and frightened after having a nightmare about either your traumatic time in the foster system or about being buried alive, and I'll wake up at the same time from a nightmare about my time as a prisoner of war. We'll comfort each other, obviously not wearing much in the way of pajamas-"

"Obviously," she contributed, already planning to forget to pack her pajamas just so she could have an excuse to borrow one of Booth's over-sized, vintage tee shirts.

"Then we'll have comfort sex to make each other feel better," he continued casually.

Brennan frowned, folding her arms under her breasts in order to convey disapproval as well as giving an appreciative Booth an good view of her cleavage. "But I have walls."

"Walls?"

She nodded with conviction. "Yep. Big, huge, wall-shaped walls. It's the metaphor of choice for how socially closed off and distant I am."

"Oh." Booth pursed his lips, thinking of possible siege tactics. "Well, that's what the pre-sex snuggling is for. Y'know, you're scared and emotionally vulnerable, I'm half naked and emotionally vulnerable, we snuggle to comfort each other..."

"And so comfort sex is the only logical progression," she finished, happy with any plan that involved the word 'logical'.

"Exactly."

Brennan's eyes lit up as she caught on, continuing, "And then we'll feel guilty about taking advantage of each other so we'll have self-hating sex."

"And then we'll claim we weren't being taken advantage of and have angry, up-against-the-wall sex," Booth added, working through the Brennan and Booth's Sexcapades he'd drawn up on the day he'd first met her.

"Then we'll be so turned on even after the angry sex that we have passionate, wake-the-neighbors sex," she stated, pleased.

Booth grinned. "The neighbors will never have liked us anyway. Then after that, we'll feel bad about the argument, and go back to the comfort sex again."

"It's a vicious cycle."

"It really is."

"So when will we get kidnapped?"

Booth cast his eyes heavenwards as he tried to remember, eventually saying definitively, "Sometime between wall sex and neighbors sex. The killer will knock us out, but in a way that doesn't cause us serious mental health problems later in life, and transport both of us to an abandoned warehouse without being spotted by anyone and without having any problems moving our dead-weight bodies on his own. He'll then tell us his plan, move over to shoot you, but then I'll somehow get free and shoot him instead."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Did I miss anything out?"

_Sex, yep. __Nudity, yep. __Violence, yep.__ Awkward tension, yep. __Me__ and Booth in bed together, yep. No Cam, yep. __Parker?__ Darn. _"Your son? Aren't you going to see him at some point?"

Booth's eyes widened and he checked his watch. "Guess I'll go do that now. See you later, Bones."

Remembering that 'hello's and 'goodbye's were entirely unnecessary in their working relationship, Temperance turned pointedly back to her remains and Booth ambled out of the Jeffersonian just before a squeal at a pitch only bats (and Brennan) could hear ripped through the lab, "Sweetie!"

Apparently sticking with the "bat" theme, Angela emerged, Dracula-like, from the same Etruscan burial crypt she'd been drawing for years now, and swooped on Brennan, practically salivating at the scent of gossip and sexual innuendo in the air. "OMFG, you're sleeping with Booth?"

Brennan looked at her with a mixture of pity and discomfort, "Angela, is Hodgins not around anywhere?"

The artist shrugged, her grin seemingly glued in place. "He's off looking at types of first-bug-name-that-came-up-on-Wikipedia maculates, which means I've got all the time in the world to pry for inappropriate details about you and Booth. Have you slept together yet? Was he good? Was he the best you've ever had? How many times did he make you c-"

"Ange!" she interrupted forcefully, before looking at her friend with concern. "Is Hodgins not satisfying you sexually anymore?"

Angela looked confused. Brennan clearly had this effect on most people. "Hodgins is great, Bren."

"Then why are you still trying to live vicariously through me and Booth? Surely if you were happy in your relationship, you wouldn't need to intrude in mine so much?"

Breaking with the earlier bat-theme, Angela remained unflappable, instead giving the anthropologist a friendly smile. "I am happy, Bren. But as wonderful as Hodgins is, I still like the occasional Booth-oriented fantasy. Everybody does."

Feeling suddenly insecure, she managed a half-hearted scoff of skepticism, "Everybody? The whole world cannot find Booth attractive."

Angela gave her a pitying look. "Trust me, sweetie, they do. Not that any of us are going to act on it, since we wouldn't want to get in the way of you two making incredibly cute babies together, but we're pretty much all thinking that the man is hot."

Partly reassured, partly appalled, Brennan asked in disbelief, "Really?"

Sensing the need for proof, the artist yelled across the lab, "Cam!"

Brennan held back a hiss when the pathologist popped up from behind a corpse, obviously enjoying a break from plotting wicked things against the future happiness of Brennan and Booth, and yelled back with a shrug, "The man is hot."

_Exhibit B. _"Zach!" Angela yelled again.

Surprised by the fact that someone was talking to him, Zach suddenly materialized next to them on the platform and said obediently, "Objectively, Agent Booth is very attractive."

_And exhibit C…_ "Jack!"

Not even looking up, the entomologist called in nonchalant reply, "I'd tap that."

Brennan just looked between them, feigning horror to mask the fact that she was ready to karate-chop them all for even looking at her Seeley. "You're all sick."

"No, sweetie, we just aren't blind." Giving her a smile, the artist did her best to fulfill her role as caring-yet-prompting best friend. "Everybody wants to tap that too, Bren. And obviously Hodgins won't because he's not gay, Zach won't because Booth's not gay, I won't because I'm your friend and Cam won't because you'd kill her dead in under five seconds. But somewhere, sometime, some evil blonde lawyer-bitch might, so you need to hurry up and get that man into bed. Now. Today."

"But…" Temperance began, unable to resist protesting despite the fact that she'd already mentally picked out the panties that Booth would be ripping from her body with his teeth that evening.

Angela moved in closer to Brennan, her voice soft and compassionate as she imparted the most important piece of friendly advice she would ever give. "Sweetie… go make babies."

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_I'm sorry for inflicting that on you and I promise sane chaptories will be back next time... (Well, as sane as you're ever going to get from someone who uses the word 'chaptory' like it's actually English.) Reviews/feedback appreciated._


	29. Open with Song

_A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter and sorry for the delay with this one. I won't bore you with the details but suffice to say it's been a crap week and my enthusiasm/inspiration has been somewhat lacking. I'll try to keep aiming for more frequent updates, but thank you all for sticking with these oneshots anyway; I really do appreciate your comments._

_This lyric/title was slightly tricky, since it seems to suggest songfic, and 'Bertie' plus 'songfic' equals 'bad things happening'. I've tried to work round it, and I apologise for my taste in music. :) Rated T.

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**But they open with song, I have heard...**

"Looks like someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning."

Hearing the smirking remark from behind him, Booth couldn't stop his shoulders from slumping in annoyance, partly at the sound of Cam's voice interrupting his current Bones-seeking mission, and partly because the expression "got out of the wrong side of bed" had been painfully accurate that morning.

Previously, he'd thought the phrase was ridiculous, not understanding how one side of the bed could be hold any mystical powers of crappiness over his day. He was fairly certain that if he asked his girlfriend of four months, she would provide him with some long-winded and mostly incomprehensible explanation about how the native tribes of upper Sasquatch used to put hot coals or sharp spikes down one side of their beds to keep away monkeys and/or evil spirits, but since he hadn't asked Brennan, he was fairly comfortable in his belief that it was a stupid saying.

That was until he'd woken up that morning, got out of "the wrong side" of his bed, tripped over his son's Tickle-Me Elmo and nearly knocked himself out when his head collided with his bedside table.

The fact that his return to full consciousness was accompanied by the decidedly mocking laughter of a small red Muppet hadn't helped his mood any, and after kicking Elmo back into Parker's apparent toy-storage area under his bed with a little more force than necessary, he'd finally made it to the bathroom to assess the damage.

Unfortunately, the result of smacking one's head against a hard, wooden cabinet was generally not a positive one, and Booth had then been forced to get dressed and eat breakfast with one hand holding an ice-pack to his face to bring down the swelling. By the time he'd reached the Hoover building to commence his day of mandatory, Temperance-Brennan-free, training lectures, he was developing a full-on black eye which only worsened as the day progressed.

Because an Elmo-inflicted black eye obviously wasn't humiliating enough at the best of times, his superiors had arranged the lectures so that the agents could "mingle" with different divisions, effectively ensuring that Booth and his shiny new black eye were seen by every single agent in the building. This provoked mixed reactions from his co-workers, both of which were equally unpleasant for Booth.

A fair proportion of the female agents, and a small proportion of the men, seemed to think that Florence Nightingale was an excellent source for chat-up lines and so made attempts at playing doctors-and-nurses in an uncomfortable carousel of sympathy, petting, and personal space invasion. This problem was soon solved though, and he'd watched in amusement as, one-by-one, his over-enthusiastic helpers beat a hasty retreat at the mention of his genius doctor girlfriend with violent tendencies.

This didn't deter most of his buddies though, and being part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the men couldn't resist positing a variety of scenarios as to how he got the bruise. Since Booth maintained his "No comment" stance, the topic had quickly become a source of entertainment during the mind/ass numbingly boring lectures, with guesses ranging from the simple, "What, did a suspect get in a lucky punch?" to the traditional, "Did you forget to pay off any loan sharks this week, Seel? Or maybe the IRS?" to the downright ludicrous, "You get in a food fight? With very overcooked food?"

However, it didn't take long for the jokes to become more personal, and Booth had tried hard not to rise to the bait at the suggestion, "Maybe a clown did it, guys. I mean, we all know Booth's got it in for them... Anyone know if there's a circus in town?" and, "How do we know it wasn't one of those science-types you work with? That why you're keeping so quiet, Seel? Don't want to admit you got blindsided by a squint?"

Knowing that getting his ass handed to him by Elmo was still worse, he'd ignored them for most of the day until his cunning nurse-deterrent came back to bite him on the ass, specifically the "violent tendencies" aspect of Brennan's personality. Before Agent Fyne could say "rough sex", Booth had given the other agent a matching black eye before being kicked out of the training session by Cullen, and ordered to attend the anger management seminar on Saturday and the safe sex help group on Sunday.

So, thoroughly miserable, he'd headed over to the Jeffersonian, figuring it was still early evening and that Brennan would likely still be there to provide comfort, support and possibly even sex in a supply closet. Slightly buoyed by the prospect of any time spent with his partner, sex or no sex, he'd hurried through the lab, mowing down a couple of interns on the way, but attributing it to the greater good, before he'd been stopped by Cam's inane but deadly accurate observation.

Sighing in frustration, he turned to face her, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"Ouch, what happened to you?"

_Always was predictable, _he thought morosely before mustering a civil tone, "Nothing, I'm fine. Is Bones in her office?"

"I don't know," the pathologist replied with a shrug, returning to her original question before he could press further, "Seeley, you sure you're okay? That's a nasty looking bruise."

_You don't say. _Unable to find a word to describe just how much he didn't want to share the Elmo Strikes Back story with his ex, he nudged the conversation back toward his partner, "It's nothing, _Camille_. Did you say Bones was still here?"

Cam folded her arms, indicating that the conversation was grounded until further notice. Ignoring his question, she approached him, asking with mixed sympathy and curiosity, "Did you get in a fight?"

_Does me vs furniture count as a fight? _"It's nothing, okay?" he repeated, his tone slightly edgier now. "Parker, he... His toys... It was an accident, alright? Now where's Bo-"

Before he could finish, Zach chimed in, moving from his nearby workstation to stand next to his boss, "You shouldn't be ashamed about admitting domestic abuse, Agent Booth."

Booth just blinked, looking at Zach in utter confusion. To her credit, Cam also looked entirely baffled by the out-of-the-blue nature of Zach's comment. Seeing that words had failed the agent, she asked, bewildered, "Domestic abuse?"

The young man nodded, saying with an air of recitation, "I read a pamphlet about domestic abuse when I visited my doctor. It said that victims will often dismiss injuries as accidents or take the blame on themselves." He turned to Booth. "There are apparently lots of helplines you can call."

"You think Booth's being abused?" Cam asked to clarify, unable to hide her smirk at this theory.

"Yes," Zach replied gravely. "We are supposed to show support and encouragement." With an open palm, he moved forward and patted Booth on the shoulder. "Like that."

Booth continued to stare at him, almost waiting for the punchline to come, while Cam tried to hold back her laughter as she addressed the young doctor, "Zach, I really don't think Booth's being abused. He probably just got into a bar fight and is too embarrassed to admit it; right, Booth?"

He studiously avoided her gaze, and Zach spoke up again, "I don't have first-hand knowledge of any bar fights, but I believe the metaphor "fists were flying" is generally used to imply that punching is a large component and the shape of the bruise is not congruent with an adult's fist." He looked at his superior. "Your area of expertise is more suited to this situation than mine."

Curious, Cam moved closer to Booth, turning his face firmly to the side to get a look at the bruising while he tried to push her hand away, "Would you stop looking at me like I'm a dead person? I was very much alive and un-corpse-like the last time I checked."

Ignoring his protests, the pathologist nodded, replying to the other scientist, "You're right, Zach. The shape of this bruise isn't consistent with a fist. It looks squarer, like a paddle or a cricket bat or a plank..." She dropped her hand down, her voice softening as she asked with genuine worry, "Booth, did someone do this to you?"

"You mentioned your son and his toys," Zach contributed helpfully. "The pamphlet said that it's possible for ill-disciplined children to become violent toward their parents, especially when they don't get their own way."

Booth's mouth fell open in utter disbelief, unsure whether to be amused or offended, "You think that my seven-year-old, four-foot-two, very well-disciplined son managed to give me a black eye?!"

Zach apparently missed the annoyance in his tone and concurred, "That seems to be a rational possibility."

_Okay, whoever gives out the title of "genius" needs to rethink his criteria, _Booth decided, before replying forcefully, "No, kid, it's not rational! Thinking my son came at me with a plank is not a 'rational possibility'!" He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "This is why you people suck at interpretation."

Frowning slightly at the insult, Cam came to Zach's defense. "It was a logical conclusion, Seeley. You've got a bruise that isn't from a fist, you won't say where you got it, you talked about your son – it was a reasonable suggestion."

_Is there something in the water at this place?_ "Suggesting that my son is like a small angry pygmy is not reasonable, Camille. And yeah, I know that abuse can happen anywhere, but you know Parker; does he really seem like the kid from 'The Omen' to you?"

"No," Cam admitted sheepishly before remembering the point of their conversation. "But if it wasn't him, what do his toys have to do with the bruise on your face?" She chuckled. "Did Tickle-Me Elmo magically become Roundhouse-Kick Elmo?"

A panicked expression flashed across Booth's face at the light-hearted joke and Cam's eyes widened in surprise, barely able to contain her laughter as she asked, "Oh god, don't tell me you got attacked by Elmo?"

"Didn't you used to be a Ranger?" Zach asked, bemused but entirely sincere. "Shouldn't you be able to defend yourself against a puppet?"

The pathologist couldn't hold back her snort of laughter at this point, and Booth folded his arms, glowering at the two of them as he argued, "It was an accident, okay? I didn't see the toy, and I lost my balance."

"Elmo took you down," Cam summarized, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Thank you so much for the sympathy," he replied sarcastically. "Please, remind me of this next time you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend."

A matching look of embarrassment now spread across Cam's face and Booth gave her a smug grin when he heard Zach inquire, "You asked Agent Booth to impersonate your boyfriend?"

Giving her a wink with his black eye, Booth began to back away toward Brennan's office, saying with mock-enthusiasm, "Have fun..."

Satisfied with the murderous look on the pathologist's face as Zach continued his questions, Booth walked away quickly, stifling a laugh as another of Zach's questions echoed through the lab, "Do you often hire men as escorts for that purpose?"

Still tired and grouchy despite giving Cam a taste of her own medicine, Booth approached his girlfriend's office with a strange sense of desperation, hoping that she would be the one good thing in a day that had so far consisted of boredom, public humiliation, and both Muppet and human violence. A small smile crossed his face at the thought of seeing Brennan for the first time since before his weekend with his son and he involuntarily licked his lips, already thinking about the feel of her in his arms and the taste of her tongue against his.

With his mind now firmly on an auto-pilot which consisted of _Bones Bones Bones Bones Bones_, Booth turned his key in the newly installed, and very useful, lock on her office door, ready to play the part of the dashing (yet currently emotionally needy) Prince Charming who sweeps the princess off her feet, takes her home, and shows her just how much he loves her through the skillful use of his tongue, fingers and other body parts.

"Bones? You her-"

The question didn't stand a chance of completion, since the door clattered open to reveal Angela and Hodgins in a passionate clinch against the wall of Brennan's office. Booth's mouth dropped open at the sight, the image of things that he never ever wanted to picture now burned into his brain, while the couple looked over at him in shock, Angela giving a yelp of surprise as she struggled to cover herself and Hodgins staying firmly in place, clearly figuring that there was no appropriate way to disentangle himself without further exposure.

_Retinas. Scarred for life. _Unsure where to look, Booth fixed his eyes on the floor, his hand on the door handle as he backed out, stammering, "I, uh, I'm just going to go fu- find Bones."

"She's not here," Angela informed him quickly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she watched the retreating agent.

Keeping his gaze down, Booth started to close the door as he called back, "Yep, I got that. I'll go look, uh, somewhere else."

Slamming the door shut, he suppressed a shudder as he quickly relocked it, thinking hopefully, _If I lock the door, it never happened. It's just an empty room where Angela and Hodgins are not having sex against a wall. _Another shudder washed over him and he thought bitterly, _If I need counseling for this, then Hodgins is paying._

With mental trauma acting as the icing on the cake of Seeley Booth's Day from Hell, the dejected agent headed out of the Jeffersonian, deciding that no good could possibly come from any further encounters that day. Sacrificing his previous Bones hunt for a night spent wallowing in self-pity with some beers and a game, he headed to his apartment, making a mental note to call Brennan and explain the day's events.

_'Sorry, Bones, but after I got knocked out by a cuddly toy, mocked by every agent in the FBI, and walked in on your best friend going at it with her fiance in your office, I needed alcohol and solitude._' Pulling into his parking space, he sighed_, Okay, maybe the I-chose-alcohol-over-you reasoning isn't the best. I'll just go with 'Sorry, Bones, I had a headache.' Yep, that'll be fine. _

Aware of the pathetic nature of his excuse, he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, his misery amplified with every step_. Because my day just wouldn't be as fun if someone had actually been in to fix the elevators_. As he unlocked his door and dumped his keys, coat and files on a nearby chair, it took a moment for his mind to process the music blaring from his kitchen. Groaning in frustration, he tried in vain to remember whether he'd left the radio on that morning, and if he would now have a load of irate messages from his neighbor on his machine.

Hoping that Mrs Barlow from next door had forgotten to put her hearing aid in that morning, he wandered to the kitchen to shut the music off, mumbling something about short-term memory loss after a blow to the head. However, when he walked in, the sight that greeted him made him want to do anything but silence the song currently playing.

His partner stood by his cooker with her back to him and her hips swaying in time to the old Kinks song filling the kitchen. Booth vaguely registered the smell of her now-legendary Mac and Cheese, his attention instead focused on the way her body moved in time to the repeated rhythm of the guitar and the strong beat of the drums, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

A genuine smile of relaxation tugged at his lips as she sang along to the words, lost in the song and in the action of stirring the pan in front of her, "I believe that you and me last forever." He grinned as she nodded her head in time, her neat curls falling on her shoulders as she continued, "All day and night-time yours, leave me never."

Booth edged further into the kitchen as the song got louder, and couldn't stop himself from laughing under his breath as Brennan lifted the board of grated cheese and scraped it into the sauce in time with the music, "The only time I feel alright is by your side."

Cheese deposited, Booth could feel himself nodding in time with the music as his girlfriend used the wooden spoon she was holding to play the air drums, her smile practically audible as she sang loudly, "Girl, I want to be with you all of the time, all day and all of the night."

As she repeated the refrain, he couldn't help but relax under the atmosphere of carefree enthusiasm which spread throughout the kitchen, wondering if there was anything better than the sight of his stunningly intelligent and drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend singing along to Sixties music while she danced around his kitchen.

_I got nothing, _his brain informed him as he watched Brennan stir the pot, the smell of melting cheese wafting through the kitchen along with his partner's singing. _Nope, there's no improving on perfection and this seems pretty damn perfect. _

Unable to erase the smile from his face at this conclusion, he moved in closer, marveling at the fact that she was so involved in the cookery or, more likely, the singing and drum-miming, that she hadn't noticed him approach. Standing behind her, he slid his hands onto her hips, murmuring in her ear in time with the song's chorus, "Bones, I want to be with you all of the time."

His brain caught up a millisecond later with a disdainful retort, _May I present Seeley Booth, King of Cheese._

Unfortunately, Brennan's spoon caught up with him as well, and she instinctively thwacked him on the cheek with the cheese-covered spoon, understandably surprised to find someone grabbing her by the waist and whispering bastardized song lyrics in her ear. Whimpering in pain at the feel of overly warm cheese colliding with his face, Booth backed off, wiping himself clean and trying not to acknowledge the new-found aptness of his King of Cheese title.

To her credit, Brennan rallied quickly and dropped the spoon back in the pan as she followed Booth to the sink, apologising as much as she ever did, "I didn't hear you come in."

He shook his head with a smile, "It's my fault. Should've known better than to sneak up on you while you were cooking."

She shrugged good-naturedly, "I did think you would've learned from the sea bass incident."

"What can I say; I'm a glutton for punishment."

Her fingers traced his bruise as she made a 'Hmm' sound, and Booth's smile faded, wondering if he was going to get a repeat of the suffocating concern or the merciless mocking. _Or both, _his mind prompted. _Here's betting she can multi-task._

However, as though acting as further proof that he shouldn't be gambling, she did neither, instead looking at him with a mixture of severity and sympathy after gauging when the injury was received, "Did you put some Arnica on that this morning?"

He shook his head and she sighed, moving over to the cupboard and handing him a tube of cream before turning her attention back to the stove. Rubbing the remedy into his bruise, his smile returned at the simple reminder of just why he was so in love with this woman.

Deciding that she needed a reminder of just why she was in love with a man who jumped out at her while she was cooking and obviously couldn't take care of his own (mostly self-inflicted) injuries, Booth flicked the radio off before moving to stand behind her again, kissing her neck as he whispered honestly, "What would I do without you?"

Enjoying the attention, Temperance let her head fall back against his shoulder, his hands nestling snugly at her hips while she listed, "Well... you'd have to make your own dinner after a day of boring lectures that you've been dreading for two weeks, that bruise would last a few days longer if no-one reminded you to put Arnica on it, and your hands would currently be moving down, not up if you wanted a sexual release."

Looking down, Booth realised his hands had been slowly inching their way up her abdomen toward her breasts while she was talking, and he smiled against her neck, giving her breasts a purposeful squeeze as he leaned over for a kiss. The taste of the creamy sauce lingered in her mouth, and Booth deepened the kiss, spinning her round to face him and savoring the tang of the cuisine mixed with her own unique flavor.

Briefly wondering whether it would be possible to eat all meals off his partner to obtain that same sensation, he reached behind her to turn the cooker off, only to find that it had already been done. He pulled back, eyeing her curiously, and she shrugged, a knowing sparkle in her eye, "Please, you think I don't know where food ranks on your list of priorities?"

He grinned. "On top of everything else but under you?"

She flashed him a wicked smile in return, "Now, are you talking about food or yourself?"

_And introducing Dr Temperance Brennan, the Queen of Cheese. _Making no promises about which of them would end up on top, Booth pulled her into another kiss as they both moved round the corner to the bedroom, lips not leaving each other's bodies. Coming to rest in a sitting position on the bed, Booth all but pulled her on top of him, his fingers toying with the buttons on her top while she made quick work of his shirt and tie.

Still trailing hungry kisses down her neck and chest, he shifted himself back onto the bed, discarding his shirt as Brennan climbed up beside him. Her shirt soon met his on the floor, and as their hands and lips continued to explore, Booth couldn't help but grin as a solution to his early problem crossed his mind.

_To avoid getting out of bed on the wrong side, don't ever get out of bed.

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Feedback appreciated as always, and if you didn't recognise it, the song was "All Day and All of the Night" by The Kinks._


	30. The Beautiful One

_A/N: Thank you to the lovely people who reviewed and cheered me up this week - I am very grateful to you all for bringing me back to my usual happy, marshmallowy state of mind._

_I'm not entirely sure how to describe this one as it's less crazy/slapstick-tastic than usual and just seemed a little different when I wrote it. Hopefully good different, not bad different though. Rated K. (Yes, I know there's not been smut for a while, but I promise I'll write some soon.)_

_In other random news, I've now got a shiny new livejournal account (to be found via the 'Homepage' link on my profile) and am currently questioning my sanity by writing yet more oneshots on there in response to various prompts. I've not quite worked out how I'm going to post them on ffnet yet, but if any of you have the urge to humor my current oneshot-crack habit, feel free to come say hi to me on lj. There may even be smut there too. Maybe._

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**You're the beautiful one that time cannot marr...**

"Well, you're not my daughter."

Booth smirked, "Gee, what gave it away, Max?"

The orange jumpsuit crinkled round the older man's elbows as he leaned back, folding his arms and saying simply, "It's the shirt." Booth looked down in confusion at his black 'Guys and Dolls' tee, and Max continued, "Temperance never liked musicals."

"But aside from the shirt...?" Booth asked good-naturedly as he took a seat opposite the felon.

"Oh, you're a dead ringer," Max finished, chuckling at the amused expression on the agent's face. His tone became almost wistful as he observed, "You know, you even smell like her a little."

Booth's smirk vanished and he eyed Max suspiciously as he repeated, "I smell like her? You go round sniffing your children?"

He shook his head, the contented glint returning to his eye. "After you've been in here a while, everything seems the same. It's only when someone new comes in that you even notice the stuff you're missing, like the smell of something that isn't industrial strength prison cleaner. As for you two smelling the same, I'm guessing that my daughter uses the same laundry detergent on both your clothes?"

Slightly relieved to hear that his girlfriend's father didn't have some odd scent obsession, Booth relaxed a little as he corrected him, voice rife with self-deprecation, "Same detergent but she's not the one who does the laundry."

Max nodded in understanding. "Her mother was exactly the same with me. Of course, it did take Ruth four years of us living together before she managed to off-load laundry duty onto me; it's been how long for you and Temperance, five months?"

"Four," he admitted honestly, before attempting an excuse, "It's not like I mind doing it though..."

The older man raised his eyebrows. "Oh please, like anyone enjoys doing laundry. No, she takes after her mother in that respect; she has a habit of getting her own way." A small smile of remembrance passed across his lips before he again lifted his gaze to Booth, unfolding his arms as he asked, his tone curious, "So why are you here instead of my daughter? Because, you know, there's a certain irony in my arresting agent coming to visit me today of all days."

Booth frowned, lost. "What's so special about today?"

Max sat up straighter, almost puffing out his chest as he spoke, "Today is the third anniversary of the day that I decided to give up my life of crime and turn myself in to the FBI of my own free will." The snort of laughter escaped Booth before he could stop it and the older man glared at him, his demeanor returning to normal as he said defensively, "What? I gave myself up."

"Yeah, after a fistfight in the parking lot," Booth corrected pointedly.

Max shrugged. "Well, I could've run away after I'd kicked your ass but I chose not to. That counts as giving myself up."

"Okay, one, you did not kick my ass in that fight, and two, there is no way you would've gotten away no matter what you did." Booth flashed him a cocky grin. "You did make it pretty easy to get enough evidence to arrest you, so I guess you get credit for that."

The older man glowered at him, his expression dangerously close to a pout. "You know it's illegal to mock people sentenced to life in prison? Something about self-esteem issues."

"Self-esteem issues?" The agent couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face at the ridiculous notion. "Max, you don't exactly strike me as a guy who's got confidence problems."

"I'm very sensitive," the criminal informed him with as much sincerity as he could muster. However, he only managed to hold Booth's gaze for a couple of seconds before the charade became too much and he conceded, "Okay, so I wasn't talking about _my_ self-esteem issues..." Booth chuckled, leaning back on the hard metal chair, and Max instinctively leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table as he inquired seriously, "So why are you really here? Is Temperance okay? Because I was getting kinda used to her visits..."

"Bones is fine," the younger man informed him and Max nodded.

"Pretty much figured you wouldn't be here making cracks at her old man if something bad had happened to her. She's not got tired of seeing me, has she? I know the three of you were off hiking in the mountains last week, but prison's still an exciting place to visit too. I mean, you get the fun of having to sit in the waiting room, and then being searched, and maybe getting your possessions confiscated. Hey, there's even a possibility of a cavity search if you look shifty enough."

His jovial smile didn't quite reach his eyes and Booth felt a small pang of pity for the old man, murderer or not, and spoke quickly to reassure him, "She's still going to come visit you, but her publishers have got her working round the clock this week doing promotion. Apparently they weren't real happy about her taking a vacation just before her new book was due out."

This time the smile was a little more genuine, and Max replied conversationally, "It's a good book."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. "You've read it?!"

His expression turned smug as the reason behind Booth's outrage clicked into place, and he said with mock-innocence, "Of course I've read it. I am her father."

"But- But you're in jail!" Booth stammered in annoyance. "Why would she let you read it and not me?" His ego reared its head, and his voice lowered as he tried to rationalise, "It's because there's too much of me in it, isn't there? She wouldn't want me to read it early in case I got embarrassed by the fact that Andy Lister is basically me."

"I wouldn't know," Max replied honestly. "I always skip the sex scenes. It's a little unnerving to think of my little girl even having sex, let alone detailing it for thousands of people to read." He shuddered, speaking more to himself than to the man opposite him, "And I always thought finding Russ' porn collection was the most awkward experience I'd have as a father."

Unsure what to say in order to avoid any further discussion of his sexual exploits with his partner, Booth swiftly changed the subject back to the original question in the hopes of pretending the intervening conversation never happened. "Anyway, Bones is down in Miami for a couple of days for signings and interviews so she asked me to stop by. Said she'd promised to show you this?"

Max looked up at the question to see Booth push a small brown book toward him. Hooking his feet round the chair legs, he pulled it and himself closer to the metal table before opening the book curiously. An involuntary smile tugged at Booth's lips when he saw the older man raise his head in surprise, face bright with enthusiasm at the realisation that the book was in fact Brennan's carefully complied photo album of their recent vacation.

Gratitude coloring his tone, Max stared down at the album as he said quietly, "She said she'd make one of these if she had time, but I wasn't sure if she'd remember to bring it to show me."

Booth raised his eyebrows, "This is Bones we're talking about here; when did she ever forget anything?"

"Guess I should've known better, huh?" he responded absently as he turned the first page of the album with almost reverential care, revealing a picture of Brennan and Booth smiling broadly for the camera while a range of pale red mountains could be seen emerging above the tall trees that surrounded the couple. Eyes drinking in the pictures as he continued to turn the pages, Max asked with interest, "Where did you go? Temperance said it was somewhere in Utah, but I can't remember the name."

"Zion," the agent supplied, almost entranced by the pictures too. "It's a National Park on the Virgin River."

"Looks beautiful," he murmured and the other man nodded in agreement.

"It's an amazing place." Leaning on the table, Booth took a better look at the pictures, pointing to one that showed the couple standing in front of a stunning backdrop of a huge sandstone canyon lined with trees which was glowing red in the early morning light. Both partners looked flushed and hot, presumably from the walk up to the vantage point, but their faces were full of life as they looked at the camera, Booth's arms round Brennan's waist and a grin on his lips as he rested his chin playfully on her shoulder. "That's the Canyon Overlook," he informed him in spite of the fact that both men were more focused on a certain person than the view.

With unspoken mutual consent, Max turned the page again, this time revealing a picture of Booth standing to the left of three dark red peaks and holding his laughing son in a piggy-back position as the child stretched his arms above his head in what appeared to be an impression of a mountain. Peering closely at the photograph, Max inquired, "That your boy?"

"Yep," Booth replied briefly, instinctively wary about talking about his son with a man in jail for life. However, as Max looked fondly at the picture, he relaxed slightly, continuing, "His name's Parker. He's going to be nine in a couple of months."

"Nearly double-figures," the other man commented with a smile, and Booth chuckled.

"God, don't mention the big 1-0. His mom promised him he could get a dog when he's ten and if he had his way, he'd spend the next fourteen months going on an in-depth tour of animal shelters to choose the exact one he wanted." Realising he could easily spend the whole afternoon talking about his son, he cut himself off, saying briefly, "He's a great kid." Pointing to the picture, he explained, "Those peaks behind us are called the Three Patriarchs, and when Bones told him what a "patriarch" was, he decided that we should make a father-son mountain. With arms. There's one of him and Bones somewhere..."

Flipping quickly through the pages, he found the picture in question and Max laughed at the sight of the exuberant eight-year-old tugging a laughing Brennan under a light shower of water which fell from the overhanging rock above them. The sunlight caught the water, making it sparkle as it flowed, while the cliff shadowed the area below it, giving the illuminated drops an ethereal glow.

Indicating the water, Booth relayed, "That's called the Weeping Rock. You can't really see from this but the water runs off the edge of this jutting cliff and then rains down in a long line." He glanced back down at the picture, pointing to the one below it, "I think we caught it on a heavy day."

Max followed his indication and laughed loudly at the picture of a half-drenched Brennan glaring accusingly at the man behind the camera with her best attempt at a serious expression, while Parker stood in the background with a triumphant grin as he waved at his accomplice, acting as further proof that the plan had been a joint effort.

When he stopped laughing, Brennan's father continued to leaf through the album, questioning with attempted subtlety, "Does Temperance get along well with your boy? Because from what I've learned about her over the last three years, she doesn't really seem like a family-vacation type of woman..."

"Bringing Parker was her idea," Booth countered, a little more defensively than he'd intended. Catching himself, he took a deep breath and elaborated awkwardly, "I usually get time with Parker over his school vacations, but we'd already scheduled the trip before Rebecca gave me the dates of his mid-term break. I said he could stay with his mom, but Bones said she was happy to take him with us, so we did." Breathing out slowly, he added with sincerity, "She's really great with him. And as for vacations, as long as she's active, she's happy."

"So no relaxation retreats then?"

Booth grinned. "Not unless she could go scale the outside of the spa."

Smirking, Max turned the final page of the album but fell silent as he stared at the picture, tracing the outline slowly with his fingers. Booth just watched him, remembering which photograph was there and knowing he'd been just as enthralled by it himself.

The older man's mouth tightened briefly as he stared at it, the crinkles around his eyes appearing more pronounced with the wistful expression of regret that passed across his face. Booth could see his gaze travel slowly across the page, taking in every tiny detail of the picture that lay before him. Unlike the majority of the others, it didn't have a breath-taking backdrop or an astounding view of the National Park; instead it was taken inside an ordinary blue tent which was strewn with sleeping bags, backpacks and water bottles.

However, the location barely registered as Max was drawn to the image of his daughter in the center of the frame, her eyes shining as she looked up at the camera. Her natural curls fell messily around her face, caught mid-swing by the click of the camera, and her face was bare of all makeup. The aquamarine filter of the tent colored her pale skin, but couldn't mask the healthy flush on her cheeks or the glow that seemed to light her features. Her eyes also remained untainted by the illumination, with the indefinable glint in them dwarfing the mundane dark blue of her surroundings as she smiled up at the photographer. Whereas her smile in the other pictures had been one of laughter, satisfaction, or enjoyment, every part of her expression, from the glow of her skin, to the twinkle in her eyes, to the gentle curve of her lips now seemed to radiate sheer happiness, the like of which he hadn't seen for years.

Swallowing hard, he spoke softly, unable to take his eyes off the picture, "She's beautiful."

"Yes, she is," Booth echoed, equally quietly.

Max gave a small smile, blinking back his emotions as he murmured, still looking at his daughter, "I've had a picture of her with me for years. When we left her and her brother, we had to destroy everything, but I still kept one picture of each of them hidden away."

He sighed, redeveloping the photograph from memory as he recalled, "She was just a baby, maybe eighteen months old, and she was the most perfect thing you've ever seen. I know she's slim now, but she was a round little thing, always bouncing and laughing and wanting to poke her nose into everything she could find. In the picture, she's right in the middle of our old couch, sitting there like she owns it even though she could barely climb onto it by herself." He chuckled to himself, before shaking his head in amazement, "But the look on her face... She's looking at me like there is nothing in the world that could make her happier at that moment."

He looked up at Booth, saying earnestly, "I haven't seen her look like that in any other picture before today." Eyeing the agent carefully, he asked with genuine interest, "Do you make her happy, Booth?"

"I try," Booth responded simply.

Max nodded, giving him a half-smile as he echoed the other's earlier phrasing, "You don't strike me as a guy who fails at things." The younger man made no reply, and Max just slowly closed the album, pushing it gently back across the table to Booth and speaking to mask his reluctance, "Thanks for bringing that to show me."

"No problem," he replied sincerely, getting to his feet and picking up the book, both of them aware that the exchanged gesture held more significance than the conversational words.

He slid the chair neatly back under the table as Max remained seated, but reached into the album one last time before he went to leave. The photograph dropped quietly to the table, its landing cushioned by air as it came to rest in front of Max, and he looked up in surprise.

Booth met his eyes, his words simple but meaningful, "I've got my own."

A look of acknowledge passed between the two men and Max reached out to take the photograph as Booth turned to leave, his casual demeanor back in place as he said, "I'll get Bones to come pay you a visit when she gets back from Miami. She can tell you all about Florida."

Max smiled, saying as the agent moved to open the door, "Tell her that I'll want to know about your vacation too. She tells much better stories than you do."

Booth smirked, "I'm sure she'll be thrilled with that accolade."

"Oh, and socks. Tell her I want more-"

The door slammed shut.

"...socks."

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_Feedback is greatly appreciated._


	31. As She Cries

_A/N: Y'know, for someone who's managed to churn out thirty-odd chaptories of this fic, you'd think I'd have learned how to be marginally eloquent by now, right? Well, apparently not, as pretty much the only response I can give to every single wonderful shiny fantastic person who's ever reviewed this fic and thus contributed to the large sparkly number above is "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you..." (repeat till out of breath/dizzy/passing out) Thank you so much for staying with this fic and reading and/or reviewing - you are all way too amazing for words. _

_And before you all realise that I'm probably the least eloquent person ever, I'm just going to get on with the fic and hope that I can disguise it for a few more chapters. Rated T and set sometime after Bodies in the Book._

_(Smut update: There will definitely be some in chap 33. Honest. There should also be some slightly less wholesome smut posted on lj this week too, which I'm oddly nervous/excited about writing.) _

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**You're lost in the eyes of my love as she cries, all for joy...**

Something wasn't right.

In the same way that cows know to lay down before rain comes, Seeley Booth sensed that there was a problem the second he walked into the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab. Unfortunately, since nothing about him was especially cow-like, he couldn't claim the right to lay down and let it pass, but instead opted to utilise his well-developed detecting skills to work out exactly what was out of place.

_Okay, process of elimination. Is the lab still here and full of busy little squints?_

He looked round, establishing with reasoning Hercule Poirot would've been proud of that the lab was indeed still there, given that he was inside it, and that the squints were milling about like a swarm of blue bees. _Or_ _bluebottles,_ pointed out a rarely used part of his brain which had evidently been occupied by the Simile Police. _Anyway, a large 'check' on the lab front. Bones?_

Eyes following a well-traveled route, he saw that Brennan's office door was closed. _That would mean she's either writing her book or doing something I don't want to picture with Sully. _He considered this for a moment before his thoughts turned bitter at the memory of what he'd been witness to a few days earlier. _Nope, if she was making out with Sully, the door would be open. Wouldn't want anyone to make the face-sucking extravaganza 2007. _Pushing down all malicious thoughts toward his fellow agent, Booth returned to the business at hand, _Bones? Check._

_Cam? _The contented smile on the pathologist's face was just visible from his vantage point as she drilled enthusiastically through the rib cage of a corpse. _Check._

_Angela? _The artist's absence in the lab confirmed that it had been her voice coming from the storage cupboard as he'd walked in. _Check. _

_Hodgins? _Considering that Angela was unlikely to have been in the cupboard alone, Booth was fairly confident of Hodgins' whereabouts, although he was somewhat horrified to learn that something of the entomologist's was called Buzz Lightyear by his girlfriend. _Check._

_Zach? _As if on cue, the newly-minted doctor sped past him, oblivious to everything except the jars of various beetles he clutched in his arms in the same manner as one would hold a child. _Check._

Frowning at the failure of his trouble-afoot sensor, he scanned the lab suspiciously as he wandered over to his partner's office, half-expecting a large Problem Monster to leap out from behind a pillar somewhere and make its presence known, as in one of his son's favorite books. Strolling round the platform, he inwardly questioned the wisdom of the book's moral message, whereby the Problem Monster was broken down to squishable size by being told to other people, in a very literal interpretation of "a problem shared is a problem halved." _That's not really true a lot of the time, _he decided firmly. _What if the problem was something really embarrassing? Like chlamydia. Would not want to share that in any sense. Dumb saying._

While he made a mental note to 'accidentally misplace' the offending book, Booth reached down to push Brennan's door open, only to collide firmly with the wood when the door stayed shut.

_Ow._

The sensation of pain was followed by a triumphant realisation, _Bones never locks her door. Or puts the blinds down. This is the thing that isn't right! _He was briefly puzzled. _What's the opposite of 'check'? _Coming to the conclusion that it didn't matter, he took a step back, ready to kick it open, with the logic that if Brennan had gone to the trouble of locking her door, she obviously didn't want to open it to anyone and so he should save her the trouble of having to unlock it.

Confident in this stellar logic, Booth took a deep breath before slamming his foot just above the lock of the door and sending it flying open. Resisting the instinct to draw his gun, he stepped inside, calling with concern, "Bones? You in here?"

A scowling red face poked up over the back of the couch, and Booth had to do a double-take to confirm that the person, who looked like she'd slapped on warpaint and was about to charge, was in fact his partner.

"Bones?"

Her puffy blue eyes narrowed into a glare as she asked bluntly, "What?"

Nudging the door closed, Booth ventured forward in much the same manner as one would approach a wild animal, inquiring with forced friendliness, "You okay?"

Brennan flopped back down into a sitting position on the couch, saying stubbornly, "I was before you decided to kick my door down." This statement was followed by her blowing her nose impossibly loudly into a crumpled tissue and Booth did his best to hide his shudder at the sound. "What do you want, Booth?"

He offered her a small smile, edging ever nearer, "I just came to see how you are." He frowned as he came closer, taking in the dried trails of tears down her cheeks and the glint in her eyes, and quickly realised that the Apache Chief complexion was not just a result of an allergic reaction. "Bones, what happened?"

She nestled further into the couch, defending sulkily, "I've not been crying."

Booth raised his eyebrows, moving round the front of the couch to get a better look at her before saying sarcastically, "Sure, you haven't. What was it, a spontaneous tear-duct malfunction?"

"Go away."

He did the opposite, and slid smoothly onto the couch, resting his forearms on his thighs and repeating his question with genuine concern, "What happened, Bones? Is it your dad?"

Surprised by the suggestion, Brennan looked up at him, saying with a frown, "My father's fine."

"Your brother?"

She stared in confusion.

"Your nieces?"

She blinked, baffled.

"Your squints?"

She produced a pathetically endearing sniffle, before following it up with a loud and far less endearing nose-blow.

"Your sinuses?"

"Everything's fine, Booth. I just-" She took a deep breath and made an attempt at composure. "I just need a few minutes on my own."

He shuffled a little closer, turning to face her fully as she curled up, sniffling, in the corner of the couch, and passed her a fresh tissue with a reassuring smile. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it." He nudged her leg gently. "C'mon, is there any subject matter in the world that you've not shoved into a conversation with me at some point?"

Before he could point out that the question was rhetorical, his partner plucked an answer out of thin air, "We haven't talked much about sex. You get nervous whenever I mention sexual preferences or fetishes or positions-"

"Whoa, okay!" he interrupted quickly, trying and failing to shut her up before his brain treated her remarks like a very repetitive pop quiz, _Preferences: Bones. Fetishes: anything involving Bones. Positions: on top of/underneath/behind/in front of Bones (delete as appropriate). _"Look, all I'm saying is that you might feel better if you share this with someone. Like me." He flashed her a winning grin. "A problem shared is a problem halved."

_Dammit. _His mind returned to his earlier thoughts, namely the situation in which the Problem Monster would roam freely like Godzilla through downtown Tokyo, and he couldn't spot himself from blurting out, "It's not a sex thing, is it? 'Cause there are clinics for that sort of stuff..."

Brennan couldn't have looked more bemused if she'd tried. Staring at him as though he was deficient in some way, she said slowly and clearly, "Sully and I are healthy, Booth."

"Oh." He steepled his fingers, nodding awkwardly. "Good. So, what's up?"

"Booth, just-"

"Leave it alone?" He gave her a half-smile. "What kind of partner would I be if I did that?" Seeing Brennan's eyes drop, he suggested helpfully, "I can try to guess if you want?"

"Booth..." she protested half-heartedly, but he was faintly relieved to see her cheeks returning to their normal color as the blue of her eyes again started to sparkle.

"Hmm..." _What could make a woman cry for apparently no reason? Work with what you know, Seel. Think of the few times you made a woman cry and see if Sully's been as much of a jackass as you._

Pursing his lips, he tried to think of the last time he was in the company of a sobbing woman, before asking triumphantly, "Did you watch a movie? Because 'Bambi' is pretty tragic." She raised an eyebrow. "So I heard."

Smirking at his clumsy cover, Brennan shook her head, blowing her nose again as she replied, "I didn't watch a movie. I don't cry at that kind of stimulation; the characters aren't real and I'm less inclined to empathize with them."

"Bambi? You can't not sympathize with Bambi."

"Because his mother died? That's part of the progression of the species; the elders must die to enable the younger generation to become superior." She looked contemplative between sniffs. "It's actually a very common motif in children's movies."

Booth just looked at her blankly. "That's great, Bones." _So chick flicks are out too... On to How to Make Women Cry Part Two: Break up with them. _"Did it end? Y'know, with you and Sully?"

"No." Amusement colored her voice and she wiped her eyes, removing the pale white trails from her less-flushed cheeks as she waited for Booth to continue in his guesses.

_HtMWC Part Three: Cheat on them. Or, in the case of Belinda Gleeson, sleep with their best friend straight after breaking up with them. They don't like that. _"Has he been... Uh, I mean, is he seeing anyone els-"

"He's not cheating on me, Booth," she responded, a smile now visible even though her shoulders still shook with an occasional hiccuping breath.

"Oh. That- That's good," he stammered uncomfortably. _Because I probably would've had to kill him if he was. Or at the very least, beat the crap out of him. _An unpleasant thought occurred, and he asked quietly, "Bones, he didn't hit you, did he?" She raised her eyebrows in disbelief and Booth quickly changed to a more logical question, "Did you hit him?"

Brennan smiled as she blew her nose. "There were no fights between me and Sully, physical or otherwise."

Feeling like he was playing Clue (and getting his ass kicked by Colonel Mustard), the agent racked his brains for other incidents involving crying women. _Okay, so if it's not physical harm, relationship issues, bereavement, trauma or Bambi, what else is left? _A light clicked on in his head as he recalled the event that produced more tears than he'd thought was humanly possible and he asked, mildly horrified, "Are you pregnant?"

"Why would I be pregnant?"

He floundered. "Because you're in a relationship... and you're crying." _May I present Seeley Booth, master of logic._

Brennan apparently had the same thought and gave him a part patronizing, part pitying smile as she confirmed, "I'm not pregnant."

_You knew that, _his brain reminded him sternly. _If Rebecca threw clothes, shoes and beermats at you when she even suspected she was pregnant, a woman with Bones' temperament would be lobbing knives and skillets at anyone who came near her. _He had the familiar experience of a mental sigh. _Remember that thing where you think before you speak? Now would be a great time to give it a shot..._

Settling back on the couch, he pursed his lips in concentration as he said, "Okay, give me a minute."

With the evidence of tears almost gone, Brennan folded her arms in expectation, her demeanor visibly calmer as she unconsciously leaned toward him. "You won't guess it," she informed him, a challenge in her tone.

"Good to know what you think of my investigative skills, Bones," he shot back sarcastically. "Just let me think."

"Fine," she replied smugly.

"Thank you." _Come on, Seel. You are not going to be outsmarted by a woman who was hiding in her office, crying, and looking like Coco the Clown, albeit with way more doctorates. Back to the HtMWC Manual. _

_"Chapter Charlotte: accidentally back over her dog, Mopsy, in the driveway." Bones doesn't have a pet, so no roadkill._

_"Chapter Kim: tell her that her mother looks great." Bones' mom is dead, so no worries there. Plus, Bones is way less neurotic than Kim and so wouldn't automatically think that her boyfriend was trying to chat up her mother._

_"Chapter Tessa: call out another woman's name in bed." In my defense, Temperance and Tessa are easily confused. Anyway, Sully wouldn't be stupid enough to call out anyone else's name when he's in bed with Bones. Oh god, unwanted mental picture. _He shuddered and moved on.

_"Chapter Rebecca: forget the dry cleaning, drink the last beer, leave the seat up, refuse to let her be on top, break anything, touch anything, say anything, or breathe anywhere near her when it's that time of the month." _

A small choir of PMSing angels took up the Hallelujah chorus in his head as he looked at his partner, asking with confident amusement, "It's hormones, isn't it?"

Embarrassment flashed across her face, and her shoulders slumped at his conclusion as she made one last attempt at concealment, "It's not hormones." He simply grinned in reply, sliding an arm round her shoulders and pulling his reluctant partner into a comforting semi-hug. She tried to pull away, protesting on principle, "I don't need to be coddled, Booth."

"Did I say I was coddling?" he answered nonchalantly, not releasing her from his arms. "Anyway, there's got to be some scientific reasoning behind it. Like your hormones get excitable at certain times of the month and so start milling around your body, which makes you tense and more likely to cry. But then rest, and chocolate, and godawful romance movies make you relax and make the hormones settle down again." He looked down at her as she gingerly rested her head against his shoulder. "See? Science."

"Science isn't your forte, is it?"

"Nope." He smiled as he felt her nestle comfortably against his side. "But that's why I've got my squint. You do the science stuff and I do the people stuff."

Her pout was almost audible as she corrected, "I'm not _your_ squint."

He feigned horror. "You been cheating on me, Bones?"

She began to laugh, but a blocked nose proved to be an obstacle and Booth quickly passed her a clean tissue from the table, mindful of his son's tendency to use his father's tee as a handkerchief during a comforting hug. Blowing her nose, she settled back in his arms as he stroked her back softly, inquiring, "So what triggered the entirely natural and unpreventable hormone attack?"

"The computer," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"The computer?" he repeated, trying to maintain his sincere and concerned tone. "What did it do?"

There was a tense pause, which was finally broken by Brennan's quiet accusation; "It ate my new book."

Booth's hand froze in its course up and down her back, taken by surprise by this news, but he soon regained his composure and managed to press on, asking sympathetically, "You mean the files went?"

She nodded unhappily. "The files, all the individual documents, my back-up copies, everything. I looked everywhere for them but they weren't there, and I couldn't find my memory sticks, and then the screen went black, and it wouldn't switch on-"

Hearing her agitation rise and not wanting a repeat of the waterworks, he cut in smoothly, "Shh, don't worry about it. You got what, the entire squint population of DC in this Institute somewhere? Do you think one of them just might be a computer genius?"

Missing the slightly teasing nature of his question, she informed him, "There's a computer lab next door which tests government software." Realisation struck. "Oh."

He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze. "So, you think you can find a computer-squint to come help you out?"

"Yes," she answered dejectedly, clearly feeling foolish. "I didn't think of- I mean, I should've been able to fix it myself, and-"

"Bones, it's okay," Booth interrupted again, letting his cheek rest briefly on her head as he spoke. "It's alright to ask for help sometimes, especially when you are scientifically disadvantaged by hormones."

The small smile reappeared on her lips. "Scientifically disadvantaged?"

He nodded. "Yup. 'Cause you know I am pretty much an authority on all things scientific."

Expecting a mocking reply from his now-less-weepy partner, Booth jumped slightly when he heard the response come from behind him in a definitively masculine voice, "Who are you and what have you done with Booth?"

Both Booth and Brennan instinctively sprung to their feet as Sully walked into the office, an amused smile on his face at the sight of them straightening their clothes. Looking at his fellow agent, he asked cheerfully, "You planning a career change?"

Booth just rolled his eyes, moving away from Brennan as he replied, "Nope. I think I'll leave the science to the squints." He made a break for the door in an attempt to avoid witnessing another kiss-a-thon between the couple, adding with a wave, "Well, see you around, Sul. Bones, I'll come by and pick up that paperwork later."

His foot was almost over the splinters of wood which now littered the doorway, when Sully's question floated back to him, the other agent having seen the tissues on the table and employed his equally awe-inspiring deductive powers, "Were you crying, Tempe?"

Against his better judgment, Booth turned round, catching the look of panicked embarrassment on his partner's face which told him that she definitely didn't want to share her computer mishaps with Sully. Reading the silent plea in her eyes, he couldn't stop the lie flying from his mouth, "Bones wasn't the one who was crying, Sul."

The agent chuckled. "You? You were crying?"

"Yep. Rough day," he offered with a shrug.

Sully still looked skeptical and Booth groaned inwardly when he pushed further. "What happened?"

_Not to question your interrogation technique, Sul, _he thought bitterly to himself, _But you've got to quit giving the third degree to the guy who's trying to help out_ your _girlfriend. _Knowing that the lie would make it round the entire Hoover building by the end of the day, he tried desperate to employ some sort of damage control. _What is it acceptable for men to cry about? Not hormones, not squished pets, not pregnancy... _

Realising his prolonged silence was becoming suspicious, he tried to keep from cringing as he answered with the next thing that popped into his head, "Computer problems."

Both Brennan and Sully looked surprised and Booth fought to maintain his sincere expression as the other agent spoke with a disbelieving smirk, "You cried because of a computer? What did it do, eat a limb?"

Jaw clenched, he gave 'friendly' his best shot. "Just some tech problems, that's all." His gaze shifted to his partner as he said meaningfully, "I'm going to go get them sorted now." Her mouth curved up in a relieved smile and he resumed his departure after adding, "Call me about that paperwork, okay, Bones?"

He was out of the door before Sully could say anything further, and walked purposefully across the lab before venturing a glance back to see Brennan smiling up at her boyfriend as though nothing had happened. Swallowing hard, he headed up to find a computer-squint, almost wincing at the thought of the mocking he'd receive from his colleagues for his lie. However, as he swiped his way out of one lab and into another, he remembered the look of sheer gratitude in Brennan's eyes and smiled to himself, deciding that, no matter how many jibes were thrown his way or what nickname might be bestowed on him as a result, he'd do it again in a heartbeart.

_It could been worse, _his mind informed him helpfully. _You could've said you'd been watching Bambi. _

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_Reviews much appreciated._


	32. Elusive

_A/N: Merci beaucoup for the reviews! (Yes, I feel like speaking French. You all know what I mean anyway.) _

_I've had a large case of writer's block with this chapter, and it got to the point where whatever I wrote just looked awful, so I decided to give up. This story was posted a few weeks ago on lj so apologies to those who have read it before, and I'll hopefully get on with writing something new in the next few days since the ideas seem to be flowing better for the next few chapters. Rated T and sorry again to the lovely people who already read and reviewed this on lj._

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**You're the elusive chord on my old guitar...**

_Pillows shouldn't be able to speak._

Hearing the pillow call her name again, Brennan sleepily murmured her disapproval, her mouth making a valiant attempt at actually producing the words that scrolled through her barely functioning brain. _Speech is not a pillow characteristic. It's wrong, unnatural, and against all laws of god and pillow. _She twitched her nose in contemplation. _Do pillows believe in a god? _She sighed, noticing that the pillow had stopped talking, and started to drift back off to sleep, pondering idly, _The Ancient Greeks used to have a god of dreams. Maybe there was a god of pillows, like Snoozeus, or Apillo. Hmm, I should go research that. _She reconsidered._ Tomorrow._

Letting her shoulders relax, she teetered on the brink of log-like slumber, only to be tugged back by the sound of her name coming from her pillow again. Refusing to acknowledge 'awakeness' as a possibility at this point, she resolutely kept her eyes shut in protest. _I am possum, see me play. _The pillow apparently didn't take the hint and kept calling, forcing Brennan to burrow her face deeper into it as she decided, _Fine, an ostrich then. I will bury my head in the pillow and ignore the rest of the world. _

This plan was thwarted, however, by a pillow-administered splash of cold water in the face.

Jerking awake with a yelp she would later deny producing, Brennan's ears were assaulted by the sound of gunshots and she blinked in confusion, wiping the water from her eyes and looking round to reassure herself that she hadn't sleep-walked into a war-zone. She relaxed as her gaze fell on the television in her lounge which was currently the source of the gunshot noises since a movie, which Booth had told her was called 'Die Hard', played out on screen.

Slightly dazed, she stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, trying to fathom what had actually happened while she'd rested her eyes for a few seconds. Unable to reach a conclusion other than 'lots of shooting', she smirked to herself as she remembered the expression on her partner's face when she'd apparently taken the title of the movie too literally and launched into an explanation of the possibility of post mortem priapism.

Having established the origin of the noise, she then turned to her right to investigate the source of the cold water, and crossed her arms petulantly when she saw Booth grinning at her from his position on her couch, a half-empty glass of water visible in his hand.

Mystery solved, she slumped back on the cushions, saying sulkily, "Was that really necessary?"

He shrugged, still smiling, "Hey, I tried asking you to wake up. You just mumbled something about ostriches and then tried to go to sleep."

She glowered at him. "You could've just let me sleep. It's nearly ten o'clock."

"Okay, first of all, it's six thirty, and second, you asked me to keep you awake, remember?"

_Well it seemed like a good idea at the time, _she thought miserably, recalling the circumstances that had led to this particular situation. _My publishers asked me to go to Europe for promotional duties, and since my body clock usually becomes out of sync for a week because of jet lag, it was only logical to take Booth up on his offer of helping me stay awake until a sensible time of night, rather than falling asleep mid-afternoon. _She looked over at the agent with loathing. _Maybe I could knock him out for a little while so that I could sleep... _

Deciding that thwacking her partner with a skillet would require more movement that she was currently capable of, Brennan opted for a slightly less violent approach, suggesting, "And I'm grateful for the effort, Booth, but I should be alright now. I can sleep through till morning and my sleeping patterns will be back to normal for the rest of the week."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Uh-huh. Remind me, what time did you go to bed after your last long-haul flight?"

"Six o'clock," she answered sheepishly.

Booth smirked, already knowing the answer to his next question, "And what time did you wake up the next morning?"

Brennan looked down. "Three thirty."

"And how many people did you karate-chop that day because you were tired and cranky?"

"Four," she admitted guiltily before making a half-hearted attempt at defending her actions, "But three of them were criminals..."

"And one of them was a security guard at the Jeffersonian who tapped you on the shoulder to return a file you dropped," Booth pointed out with a grin. "You also happened to attack me by the way."

"You don't count."

"Why, because I should've known that telling you we had a case would result in me ending up flat on my back with your foot on my neck?" He chuckled. "Face it, Bones, you having a bedtime that's later than a six-year-old's is best for everyone."

"How am I supposed to stay up?" she retorted, a little more harshly than she'd intended.

Booth didn't seem fazed and answered teasingly, "Not falling asleep on my shoulder would be a good way to start."

Her bottom lip protruded in a slight pout as she replied, "But you were comfortable..."

"Thanks, Bones. I'm sure my mom would be so proud to know she raised a 'comfortable' child."

_Considering she named you after a mattress, I'd say it's likely, _she thought pointedly, but instead asked with an air of defeat, "So what's next from the Federal Bureau of Sleep Deprivation? Because so far coffee, sugar and loud movies haven't worked."

Booth raised his eyebrows at her tone but was unable to keep the smile of his lips as he inquired, "Feeling a little testy, Bones?"

Her eyes narrowed, the ferocity of the glare somewhat lessened by the drop of water that trickled slowly down her forehead. "I've not slept in twenty-six hours."

He remained unflappable, simply raising the glass of water again. "We could always try some more water? I think maintenance might have a hose somewhere?" The stare he received informed him that Brennan would react in much the same way as a Mogwai if doused with any more water, and he amended, "Alright, water's out. You got any ideas?"

She thought for a second before her ever-present science side emerged again, the sleepiness of her tone coupled with the logic of her words making her sound a little like Einstein with a hangover as she suggested, "Eating sunflower seeds which are still in the husk is thought to be a good method of stimulation. Cracking them open one by one requires active concentration and tongue movement which stops people from falling asleep, and the salty taste of the seeds is invigorating."

Booth stared at her as he tried to process her comments. Only registering the words "stimulation", "concentration", "tongue movement" and "salty taste", he said quickly, doing his best to sound casual, "Do you have any sunflower seeds?"

Brennan frowned, her scientific reasoning obviously not having gotten that far. "No..."

Pushing away any mental pictures of what she could use instead, he changed the subject, putting forward another idea, "How about exercise?"

She considered this briefly before nodding in acceptance, "Exercise stimulates blood flow around the body which helps combat drowsiness."

"Great." Flashing her a smile, he pushed himself off the couch with ease and turned to face her, his hands on his hips as he said, only half joking, "Drop and give me twenty."

_I'll drop, but I'm not giving you twenty, _she thought stubbornly but much to her disgust, her mouth only produced a noise that sounded remarkably like a whimper.

Drill Sergeant Booth was evidently unfazed by the un-Brennan-like response of his exhausted partner and moved to grasp her wrists, saying with affection, "Up you go, Bones." She managed not to protest as he pulled her reluctantly up to a standing position between the couch and the coffee table, her body a foot away from his own, but raised her eyebrows in disbelief when he offered cheerfully, "Let's try some jumping jacks."

She blinked. "Jumping jacks?"

"Yeah, you know..." He jumped so that his legs were stretched apart and his hands reached above his head, and then returned neatly to his starting position with the expertise of a well-drilled soldier. "Jumping jacks."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "I know what a jumping jack is, Booth."

"Then let's see one," he prompted encouragingly.

_Sadistic bastard, _she thought to herself, deciding that childish whingeing and gratuitous name-calling were entirely permissible as long as they weren't vocalised. Giving an overly dramatic sigh, she made a sleepy attempt at a jumping jack before folding her arms and glaring up at a chuckling Booth. "You're not helping."

"I'm not helping?" he asked in surprise, shoulders still shaking with laughter. Finally composing himself, he met her eyes with a challenging stare. "You want me to help, I'll help. Turn around." She looked perplexed and he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her round to face the couch, her body brushing against his in the confined space. Wrapping his large hands around her wrists again, he moved closer to her, asking firmly, "You ready?"

Without waiting for a response, he called loudly, "Jump!" and simultaneously raised her arms above her head, almost lifting her into a jump.

Unsure what she'd been expecting, but fairly confident that it hadn't been this, Brennan was taken aback by the action, and tried to pull her arms down, protesting feebly, "Booth-"

"Jump!"

Her body automatically obeyed the command given by the voice in her ear and she jumped as Booth lowered her arms back to her sides before starting the process again.

"Jump!"

She made more of an effort the second time her hands were pulled above her head, but the vibrations against her back from Booth's barely disguised laughter didn't help with her concentration.

"Jump!"

As he lowered her arms, she elbowed him playfully in the stomach, her own lips curving up in a smile while she made another conviction-free protest, "Booth, stop-"

"Jump!"

A laugh escaped her when he raised both of their arms above their heads without any input from her whatsoever, especially as her feet now remained tiredly on the ground.

"Jump!"

Booth's shouts became less and less authoritative from the combination of his partner's apparent refusal to participate and the sheer ridiculousness of the fact that he was now doing little more than flapping her arms up and down.

"Jump!"

This time, he slid his lower leg in between hers as he lifted her arms, trying to nudge her knees and ankles apart into some semblance of a jumping jack position. Unfortunately, Brennan's tiredness, lack of co-ordination, and increasingly badly concealed laughter were not helpful in this venture, and she lost her balance when he inadvertently pushed her left foot out from under her, causing her to let out a shout of laughter at the same time, "Booth!"

Feeling herself wobble, she tried to lower her arms to steady herself but caught Booth off-guard as she reached out to the couch in front of her, making him stumble forward before he could think to detach his hands from her wrists. Eventually his reflexes kicked in and he let go of her, only to have his feet swept from underneath him by his partner's leg as she twisted to land flat on the couch, sending him toppling on top of her with a panicked yet ultimately futile shout of warning, "Bon-"

Both the shout and the air were knocked out of him as he landed on his stomach, his limbs entangled with Brennan's and his weight pinning her underneath him, laughter still shaking both their bodies.

It was only when Brennan's soft laugh faded away that realisation fought to the surface of Booth's dazed mind; namely the realisation that his face was currently resting comfortably between his partner's breasts while the rest of his body covered hers. Eyes widening, he scrambled desperately off the couch, his knees impacting the carpeted floor with a thud and his elbow colliding painfully with the wooden table behind him.

Biting back a hiss of pain, he launched into an apology, his words spilling out as he struggled to right himself, "Sorry, Bones; I mean, I didn't think you'd fall, and I didn't mean to trip you, and my head just landed there- I definitely didn't mean to intrude on your breas- uh, your personal space, and I-"

He stopped, frowning in confusion as he looked at his partner who was lying perfectly still on the couch, eyes closed and oblivious to his not-entirely-coherent monologue. Irrational fear stabbed through him and he moved closer to her, asking with concern, "Bones? Bones, can you hear me? You okay?" His fingers went quickly to her neck, searching for a pulse as the worry intensified, "Bones?"

The feel of a pulse under his fingers alleviated the panic slightly, but he still bent close to her, breathing out himself as he saw her chest rise and fall in slow, steady breaths. Sighing quietly in relief, he watched her for a few moments as his heart rate returned to normal, a small smile playing on his lips at the sight of her stretched out on the cushions, her eyes closed and her expression peaceful.

She shifted slightly, barely awake but adjusting herself to a more comfortable position for her long-craved night's sleep, and Booth reached out a hand to wake her up, remembering his temporary duty as the Anti-Sandman. However, he only got as far as laying his hand gently on her shoulder, before his brain reminded him just how high up 'watch Bones sleeping peacefully next to him' ranked on his priority list. Smiling softly, he instead raised his hand carefully off her shoulder and instinctively stroked her head soothingly, her hair smooth and silky under his fingers.

Catching himself and swallowing hard, he moved to lift his hand from her head, fully aware that loving caresses went far beyond the bounds of partnership, but his movement was checked when Brennan sleepily tilted her head with a contented sigh to let his hand fall on her cheek.

Keeping as still as possible, a genuine smile spread across Booth's face as he heard his partner murmur absently yet utterly sincerely, "You make a nice blanket..."

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_Feedback very much appreciated. (Replies may be a little slow this week, since I'll be Internet-free till Wednesday or Thursday, but they'll get to you eventually!)_


	33. Hidden 'Neath Veils

_A/N: New chapter! Yay! Thanks to those who reviewed the repeated one - hopefully it won't happen again..._

_This one's __**rated M**__, which is hardly unsurprising seeing as the title itself mentions "lovemaking". I swear this song was made to have BB fanfic written about it. Anyway, if you're underage/not a fan of smut, please come back next chapter._

_I've got a very busy few weeks coming up, so the writing may have to be put on the back burner for a while. I'll try and keep updates coming when I can, but apologies in advance for any delays._

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**You're hidden 'neath veils that our lovemaking fails to destroy...**

In Booth's opinion, the expression "Better late than never" was severely flawed.

Too many times he had found himself in situations where 'never' seemed far more preferable to eventually coming clean and admitting blame or ignorance. From realising that he still didn't know his new colleague's name after two weeks of working together, and so having to eavesdrop in the hopes of hearing someone else say it, to concocting an elaborate description of a children's party when he'd lied to his boss that it had been his son's birthday when he'd been too hungover to come to work, Booth was well-versed in social encounters when 'never' was infinitely better than 'late'. 

However, as skilled as he was in working his way out of awkward scenarios, his current problem had him thoroughly stumped.

This problem, like many of his past and probably future problems, involved Dr Temperance Brennan. After years of showing Pope-like restraint toward his gorgeous yet infuriating partner, something in him had snapped when he'd agreed to accompany her to some drinks with people she'd known from grad school. To cut a long story short, the evening had ended with them leaving as a couple after an encounter in the alley behind the bar which included, but was not limited to, Brennan being divested of most of her clothes, Booth divulging some rather explicit fantasies, and the pair of them indulging in some surprisingly satisfying sex against the back wall. 

Since then they'd spent time together on a regular basis, slowly fathoming their new involvement with each other while being sure to consolidate their existing partnership, and Booth was quickly finding out that Brennan could be just as passionate about things which weren't anthropology or human remains. Namely, him.

Unfortunately, during the two weeks they'd spent together, Booth's usual suaveness with women had deserted him, and this led to the issue at hand; at no point had he managed to get across to his partner that when she screamed his name in orgasmic bliss, he'd much prefer it if she called him by his given name rather than his surname.

Normally this was accomplished by a smoky murmur of "Call me Seeley" as he kissed the sensitive spot behind their ears, but apparently the part of his mind which controlled the 'smooth' characteristic had shut down in disbelief at the fact that he was actually getting to touch Temperance Brennan, deciding that it'd be happy with her calling him anything from Miguel to Santa if it meant she'd stay in his bed. When his mind finally regained its composure two weeks later, it seemed too late to begin a conversation, "Hey, Bones. By the way, you've been calling out the wrong name in bed for the last two weeks."

So, like the tactical genius that he was, Booth had engaged in a series of cunning plans.

Plan One: Do Unto Others. In a wildly uncharacteristic move, he'd spent an entire day calling his partner by her first name in the hopes that she would be inclined to return the favor in bed that evening. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to find out as Brennan assumed that the name change was a symptom of some sort of head trauma and refused to sleep with him until he'd had a thorough psychiatric evaluation.

Plan Two: Suggestion. Using whatever means of persuasion he had at his disposal (although stopping short of offering sexual favors to the secretaries on the third floor), he had convinced the people who his girlfriend would come into contact with to call him Seeley for a couple of days. However, Brennan had become increasingly immune to all things hint-shaped and continued to yell "Booth" in bed with the same reckless abandon as ever. 

Plan Three: Coercion. After the failure of the non-bedroom-located cunning plans, he then moved closer to the source of the problem with a less aggressive take on aversion therapy in which he ceased or slowed his ministrations every time the name 'Booth' slipped from his girlfriend's lips. The teasing had initially looked as though it would be successful as he brought her closer and closer to the edge before backing off, but, as always, Temperance Brennan was not easily swayed and had responded to his actions by clamping her thighs round his head, holding him in place till he finished and simultaneously preventing him from hearing the wrong name escape yet again from her throat. 

Plan Four: Manipulation. Rapidly approaching the end of possible solutions, Booth had taken to staging a very audible conversation with his oh-so-adorable seven-year-old son about why Parker's mom, grandparents and the pretty lady from his dad's work with the long dark hair called him Seeley. After hammering home the point that, while Parker got to call him Dad, other people who were close to him chose to call him Seeley as a mark of affection, he was dismayed to find that Brennan had still remained impervious to all the charms of both Mini and Maxi Booth.

And so, slumped peacefully on his couch with his girlfriend that evening, he was about to implement his fifth and final plan, in which he had decided to take the "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" route, figuring that if they had enough sex, she'd finally call him Seeley just for the sake of variation.

"That would never happen."

Snapped out of his thoughts by the comment from his apparently telepathic partner, Booth looked down at her as she rested against his shoulder. "Why would it never happen?"

Her forehead wrinkled in a brief frown before she explained slowly, "Because there's no such thing as magic."

He raised his eyebrows at her belief in his non-existent spell-casting abilities. "Bones, I'm not going to-" His eyes fell on the twitching nose currently shown on the television screen and he finally remembered the movie he'd put in half an hour earlier. "Oh. You were talking about..."

A bemused smile played on her lips as she reached for the bowl of popcorn which lay in her partner's lap. "What did you think I was talking about?"

Unwilling to share his actual thoughts, he said teasingly, "I just thought you were talking about the chances of me getting to eat any of this popcorn."

With an expression resembling an indignant hamster, she smacked him on the arm and protested guiltily through the mouthful of food, "You weren't eating it..."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't going to," he pointed out sulkily. "I wasn't expecting you to be Speedy Gonzales of the popcorn world."

Munching happily now, she shrugged. "Survival of the fittest."

"Fittest?" He flashed her a grin. "Not for much longer if you keep eating at this rate."

This comment earned him another slap, and she glared playfully as she informed him, "I could still kick your ass if I wanted to." Leaning in for more popcorn, she added with a smile, "You're just lucky that I happen to like your ass."

Chuckling softly, he let his hand travel down over her hips, squeezing her ass lightly. "I happen to like yours too."

Evidently bored by the movie, Brennan tilted her head up, her eyes flickering shut as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips and ran his hand through her hair. His tongue played against hers, tasting the flavor lingering in her mouth, before he pulled back and commented casually, "I always thought you'd prefer salted popcorn." She raised her eyebrows and he corrected, "Not that I'm complaining. Sometimes you're just in the mood for something sweet..."

She rolled her eyes, her disapproving tone lessened slightly by the smile on her face as she spoke, "You do know that I'm already sleeping with you, yes? Come-ons aren't really necessary anymore."

"What can I say?" He kissed the tip of her nose lightly. "I'm a romantic at heart." He grinned as she scrunched up her nose, stroking her cheek with his finger and saying in amusement, "You're so cute sometimes."

"Cute?" Sitting up, she looked at him sternly. "Cute?"

Running his hand up and down her back, he corrected with mock-apology, "I'm sorry; you're not cute at all. Definitely not adorable in any way, especially not when you play with my fingers when you're sleepy, or when you get that puzzled little pout while you're cooking."

Elbowing him firmly in the ribs, she knelt up and purposefully straddled his thighs as he sat on the couch, meeting his eyes and saying with a challenge in her voice, "I'm not cute."

Letting his hands rest on her hips, he feigned indifference. "I don't know; I think I need more convincing."

"Oh, really?" Raising one slim eyebrow, she played with the collar of his white shirt, lifting his two-tone red tie over his head as she teased, "I can be pretty persuasive." Booth made a skeptical noise in response and she glared playfully at him. "What?"

Running his hands up over the curve of her hips, he replied knowingly, "You're just looking kind of cute right now, that's all."

Glowering at him, she tightened her grip on his shirt, pulling him into a kiss after murmuring firmly, "I'll show you cute."

Booth grinned inwardly at the feel of her tongue brushing boldly against his lips and parted them to allow her access as her hands came up to the back of his head, entwining themselves in the gel-free hair. She tilted his head back, increasing the contact of their tongues, and knelt up over him, her breasts meeting his chest as she controlled the kiss. Feeling his hand cup her breast and squeeze tenderly, she rocked her hips slightly, gratified to feel the growing bulge in his pants brushing against her ass.

With some effort, she pulled away, her lips hovering just above his reach as she inquired, almost daring him to say yes, "Still think I'm cute?"

Meeting her eyes, he conceded, "Fine, you're not cute." A mischievous smile played on his lips as he asked, "Am I allowed to think you're hot?"

"Hot?"

"Oh yeah." Unable to reach her lips, he gave her breast another light squeeze. "So damn hot that I'm surprised my pants haven't burned off yet."

The Look of Logic crossed her eyes, but she couldn't keep the amused smile from playing on her lips as she corrected, "Spontaneous human combustion has never been scientifically verified."

His squeezes became more insistent, thumbs circling her hardening nipples through the fabric of her tight top. "Well, we've broken a few other laws of physics in the past two weeks. How hard can it be?"

Brennan quirked an eyebrow, trailing her hand down the front of his shirt to stroke the bulge in his pants. "I'm assuming that was a rhetorical question."

He chuckled, the sound seeming to fill the already small space between them, and reached up to the back of her head, bringing her lips back down to meet his. She shifted position before settling comfortably on his lap, a small murmur of contentment escaping her lips as they kissed slowly and leisurely. Their tongues explored each other's mouths, the familiar taste and texture simultaneously arousing and relaxing them while their hands roamed over their bodies, tracing contours and seeking out exposed skin with greedy fervor. 

Unfastening the top buttons on his shirt, Brennan smoothed her hands over his chest, the heat of his skin passing into her own as her mouth traveled to his neck. Booth's head fell back against the sofa, a low groan emanating from his throat at the feel of her kisses on his throat and her hips moving against him, her touches hot and demanding. Returning the favor, he pushed her top up, his hands sliding underneath the material to cup her breasts through her bra and brushing the hardened nipples through the lacy fabric. Her own head tipped back as he kissed a path up her collarbone and neck, biting down on her earlobe before sucking lightly to remove any evidence of his teeth. 

She leaned in at the sensation, craving more, but then pouted as her partner shifted back when the bare skin of their abdomens pressed briefly together with an almost tangible spark of electricity. Seeing her expression, Booth kissed her softly on the lips, catching his breath before suggesting, "Bedroom?"

Not waiting for her to answer, he slid one large hand under her ass and used his other arm to push hard off the couch. The sound of Brennan's yelp at being lifted into the air was soon drowned out by Booth's low chuckle when she instinctively wrapped her arms round his neck and her legs round his hips, creating an enjoyable pressure through his pants. 

With some difficulty, he maneuvered them to the bedroom, trying to avoid any low-lying furniture and resisting the urge to give in to the teasing kisses of his girlfriend and simply finish the encounter against the nearest wall. Reaching the bed not a moment too soon, he dropped her easily to the mattress, his fingers hooking under her top and pulling it smoothly over her head before tossing it over his shoulder with a flourish.

Raising her eyebrows briefly in surprise, Brennan adapted quickly, pulling his body flush against hers and sliding her heel up the back of his leg, still craving friction. Feeling her hips move against his thighs as he stood between her legs, Booth tugged the clasped of her bra open, palming her breasts and rolling the tight peaks of her nipples between his fingers as she produced an almost feline purr of enjoyment. Breathing heavily, she pulled his shirt open, sending the lower buttons flying in her haste to get him fully out of his work shirt, and planting kisses over the exposed skin of his chest and torso. 

Cupping her ass again, he unfastened her jeans and wriggled them and her panties down her legs as she lay back on the bed, hands now coming up to play with her own nipples while Booth stripped off his pants, sighing at the release from the confines of his work pants. With a predatory smile on his face, he knelt on the floor between her knees, trailing his fingers lightly up her calves and watching her legs twitch in anticipation. He rubbed his knuckles against the inside of her knees and smiled as her thighs instinctively parted further to allow him access.

"Booth..."

He bit back a sigh upon hearing his surname, and quickly moved his head between her legs, starting to kiss a tender path up her inner thighs as she writhed impatiently on the bed, repeating pleadingly, "Booth... I need..."

Breathing hotly on her sex, he inquired with mock-innocence, "You need what?"

She sighed desperately, "Fuck, Booth..."

He chuckled, his breath again landing on her exposed center. "Whatever you say."

Before she could say anything else, he licked slowly up her folds before flicking his tongue across her nub, causing her to arch up on the bed with a cry. Smiling inwardly, he continued, alternating between slow licks, dipping his tongue inside her as he went, and firm sucks of her clit, occasionally brushing it with his teeth and becoming more and more turned on by the moans and whimpers she produced in response. One hand on her hips holding her in place, he reached up to her breasts, giving her nipple a gentle tweak and getting her hands threaded into his hair in response, her body tightening and a cry spilling from her lips as she approached the edge, "Oh God, I'm going to-"

The sentence was never finished as Booth slid two large fingers inside her carefully, stroking her walls while his lips closed round her clit, tongue working the already stimulated nerves as her legs locked down over his shoulders and her bare heels dug sharply into his back. The grip on his hair suddenly strengthened, and he kept stroking and licking at a steady pace as her breath hitched, struggling to form the words as she flew over the edge, walls contracting around his fingers, "Booth... God, Booth!"

Despite the almost unbearable tightness in his boxers, Booth felt himself deflate slightly at the name, slowing his ministrations as his partner came back to earth and raised her head, an expression of dazed satisfaction in her eyes as she murmured, "That was..." She smiled weakly. "Amazing."

Pushing himself to his feet, he tried to make the point he'd been failing to get across for the last two weeks, "Listen, Temperance, when you-"

Unfortunately, the goal was still not yet accomplished as she sat up, a pink flush over her pale skin, and looped her arms round his neck again to kiss him. His lips slid against hers, her two separate flavors combining easily on his taste-buds as their tongues met, and she pulled him back onto the bed after slipping his boxers down his legs and squeezing his bare ass as a prompt. 

Acting as though on autopilot, he moved onto the bed, Brennan's legs guiding him forward as he slowly positioned himself inside her, groaning pleasurably at the sensation. She exhaled sharply as he started to move, her eyes fluttering shut and her breathing falling into the same rhythm as Booth's thrusts, punctuated with short gasps and moans as he hit the spot inside her which made her tighten at the sensation.

"Call me Seeley."

The words spilled from his mouth before he knew he'd said them and his eyes widened, watching the puzzled expression cross Temperance's face even as their bodies refused to break their shared rhythm. "What?"

Breathing heavily, he tried to explain as the blood rushed from his brain, "Just- Just call me Seeley when we're like this."

Body glistening with sweat, she frowned in simple confusion. "But you're always Booth to me."

He gasped, struggling to force the words out. "I know. Please, just try for me." He managed a half smile, closing his eyes at the pressure coiling in his lower belly. "Please?"

She smiled back, still baffled but making an attempt at reassurance, "I'll try..."

He planted a soft kiss on her cheek, his lips barely brushing the skin while his attention remained firmly elsewhere. "Thank you."

Her smile widened as she threaded her hands into his hair, kissing him again and tilting his hips to take him as deep as possible. Their lips sought each other's skin, tongues brushing and caressing their exposed bodies to set their nerves alight. Flushed and slick with sweat, they moved in time, hands, thighs, arms and torsos sliding smoothly together and being completely separate at the same time. Muscles clenched and relaxed in time as waves of pleasure built in both of them, making their breathing seem like they were drowning and creating an exquisite pressure which almost engulfed them. 

Pulling almost the entire way out, Booth closed his eyes at the feel of the wave peaking inside him, before thrusting once more into her as it broke, flooding his body with ecstasy. He came hard, not even hearing the name he called out as he felt her walls tighten around him for the second time that evening, "Temperance..."

Struggling for breath, he felt the blood rushing in his ears fade and his eyes flickered open to see the waves passing over his partner, her head falling back against the pillow and body arched beneath him. A sense of satisfied anticipation briefly rose up in him without conscious realisation, and he watched breathlessly as her lips parted in a loud, involuntary cry which took his dazed mind a long moment to process.

"Booth..."

* * *

_Reviews much appreciated._


	34. Desire in Your Voice

_A/N: Thank you to all the fantabulous people who reviewed the last one. And those who reviewed other chapters. And those who sent me small essays on which ones they'd like continued... Sorry for the lack of update for like three weeks, but I've been busy with the failing at life. _

_So considering my original plan for this one was character death, I am quite relieved that my fickle brain decided to produce this instead. Rated a big fat T; although there's no actual smut, Booth's thoughts are fairly smutterrific._

* * *

**There's all I desire in your voice...**

It was an established fact that whenever Brennan got dressed up, Booth ended up in some kind of pain.

This wasn't in any way a voluntary arrangement - he'd sworn off that type of sex game after an unfortunate incident with Rebecca and a spatula - but rather some kind of karmic attempt at aversion therapy. Karma would catch Booth ogling his partner in a very non-partner-like way and thus proceed to inflict some sort of pain as a reminder that drooling over Temperance Brennan was cosmically unacceptable.

The first occurrence had been a few weeks into their partnership, when Booth had encountered Brennan on her way to a Jeffersonian fundraiser and had spent excruciatingly long moments trying to convey that she was possibly the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen and yes, he'd very much like to have sex with her. What actually made it out of his mouth was a different matter and after finally stammering the words "You look nice", he'd then headed for the nearest bar on a mission to get stupendously drunk in order to forget his pathetic attempt at a compliment. Mission accomplished, he'd happily detailed just what was so wonderful about the good Dr Brennan to his ex-girlfriend Tessa who had slapped him with impressive force and left him to sleep it off on her hugely uncomfortable couch.

As though taking some sort of precaution, he was already in a hospital bed the next time Brennan appeared in one of her date-worthy black dresses. Somewhat unfairly, Karma didn't seem to rate being blown up as license for opportunistic Bones-appreciation and had engineered events so that Brennan would conveniently fall asleep on Booth's fractured arm, leaving him to suffer in silence as she snuffled contentedly into his elbow, generally being too cute to consider waking up.

And then there had been Vegas. Quickly cottoning on to the fact that Booth was never going to be able to keep his eyes off 'Roxie', Karma had pulled out all the stops and he'd taken a violent beating in the fight ring, ensuring that he was definitely not going to be in any shape to act out the many, varied (and in some cases downright kinky) fantasies he'd greedily nurtured in Sin City. The same had applied at the thwarted Hodgins-Montenegro nuptials, where he'd managed to knock himself unconscious on the edge of a table before any tongue-kissing of the maid-of-honor could take place.

However, despite Karma's stellar efforts to install a Pavlovian reaction of "Bones-ogling equals ouch" in the agent, Booth had instead followed the example of Pavlov's goldfish, wiping his memory clean after seven seconds and returning to the dazed staring with renewed vigor. True, he knew his partner was excellent at what she did and deserved to be treated with nothing but the utmost respect, but there was only so much he could ignore his "Bones pretty. Me want Bones." urges.

Tonight was no exception.

Winding through the darkened streets of DC, he tried hard to keep his eyes on the road while Brennan sat in the passenger seat, doing something which looked remarkably like fondling her own breasts. Before Booth could offer to lend a hand, she sat upright and jiggled experimentally, asking, "Do you think he'll notice the wire?"

Not wanting to inform her that the drug-dealer/murder suspect she was going to meet would undoubtedly be more interested in her breasts rather than the wire hidden beneath them, Booth replied confidently, "He won't notice it, trust me."

Her kohl-lined eyes darted over to him nervously. "Are you sure?"

"Bones, I've seen you smuggle a small cannon in a skintight WonderWoman outfit. Hiding a wire in a dress should be a snap after that." Suddenly realising that the anxiety in her voice could be put to his advantage, Booth quickly changed tack. "But if you don't feel comfortable, maybe you should back out." _And not go undercover in a bar to meet a man who mostly likely bludgeoned his girlfriend to death with a hammer. _He shrugged, adding casually, "Just a thought."

She raised her eyebrows at his incredibly subtle dissuasion attempt, inquiring knowingly, "Do you still have a problem with me going undercover tonight?"

_Yes. Yes, I do. _"No, no, I just-" He took a deep breath, trying to come up with better reasoning than a Gollum-esque 'Mine, my precious! Mine!'. "I was just worried about him recognising you, that's all. I mean, what if he's read one of your books? Or seen you on a TV interview?"

Brennan smirked. "Drug-dealing murderers are hardly my target demographic, Booth." He glared at her and she sighed, reassuring, "It'll be fine. You'll be nearby if anything goes wrong, and you'll be able to hear everything via the wire."

"I still don't like it," he reiterated, almost sulkily. "You know, we could've just had someone from the Bureau do this."

"Booth, we've been through this already. Another agent wouldn't be able to recognise items which could've made the marks on the bones, and they might not understand the significance of some of the things he says." She fixed him with a stern stare. "We agreed I'd do this."

Pouting slightly, he conceded, "I know we did, and I'm not going to stop you. I just want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. Going to a bar like this one while you're dressed like that..."

Her eyes widened, and a sudden surge of hope shot through Booth at the thought that she might change her mind. This hope was abruptly dashed and replaced with a stab of guilt when she asked with genuine insecurity, "You mean he might not want to talk to me? That I'll look out of place, or unappealing, or like an undercover forensic anthropologist?"

Skipping over how anyone could possibly identify a forensic anthropologist, let alone an undercover one, he answered quickly, "No! Bones, you look..." _So damn hot that we've nearly crashed twice because I couldn't take my eyes off you. _"Great. Really. He'll be all over you." _Unless he's gay, blind, or being beaten off with a stick by yours truly. _"And he probably won't be the only one. You need to know what you're letting yourself in for."

She gave him a patronising smile. "I can take care of myself, Booth."

The car pulled to a stop a block away from their destination, and he turned to face her, asking one last time, "You sure?"

"Yes," she stated firmly, moving to open the car door. "I'll go in, make contact, and try to get him to talk about Rosa Samuels. If he says anything pertinent, you can arrest him, but otherwise I'll be out in an hour or so."

He nodded. "Alright. I'll be right outside if you need me." _With my gun. And maybe some kind of hittin' stick._

Rolling her eyes, she swung the door shut and walked briskly down the street to the bar, her skyscraper heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk and her dress brushing lightly against the backs of her thighs. Allowing himself to bask in the moment, Booth leaned back in his seat and let his eyes travel slowly down her body, shaking his head in quiet amazement at her choice of outfit for the evening. To his surprise, she hadn't picked the little black number now known as the 'Roxie dress', but had instead selected the other dress she'd worn in Vegas.

Although his recollections of her in the fire-engine red dress were tempered slightly by the memory of getting his ass handed to him by the Incredible Bulk, Booth was starting to prefer that one of the two. Sure, he loved the way she looked in the black dress, and he liked the fact that he'd been the one to pick it out for her, but there was something hugely arousing about the thought of her getting dressed up _for _him, instead of getting dressed up _by _him. The fact that she'd gone into a store, tried it on, seen just how low the neckline was, and still bought it to wear around him had contributed greatly to the rush of adrenaline he felt every time he saw her in it.

Watching her sashay her way into the bar, the soft curve of her ass accentuated by the clinging material of the dress, he swallowed hard and resisted the urge to drag her away from the bar and the wandering hands of whoever might be in there.

_Maybe I could stick a 'Booth's Hands Only' sign on her back, _he pondered idly, swinging the car into a side alley and flicking the volume up on his transmitter._ Sure, she'd bring up the possessive alpha-male thing again, but she didn't seem to have any objections to me putting my hand on her ass in Vegas. _He thought back to his prior experiences with women. _Actually, I don't think I've ever had any complaints about my hand being in the general 'ass' vicinity. Hmm. Maybe I should try to introduce it into our working relationship. We're already fairly tactile, and she seemed perfectly happy squeezing mine when we were undercover. It's basically a win-win situation; satisfaction guaranteed. _He smirked to himself. _Satassfaction._

Receiving a mental slap from the part of his mind that was less fond of terrible puns, Booth brought his attention back to the conversation now emanating from the transmitter on the center console, and frowned as he heard a man's voice in close proximity to Brennan, asking, "So, do you come here often?"

Booth wrinkled his brow, trying to work out whether the voice belonged to the drug-dealer himself, the interestingly-named 'Ridge', and listened for some kind of clue in his partner's reaction.

Brennan's tone was icy and imperious as she responded curtly, "No."

"Well, maybe I can show you around," the evidently unwelcome man suggested lecherously, his voice sending a shiver downn Booth's spine. "You know, make sure you have a good time..."

The agent's hand instinctively moved to his gun as he fought the urge to charge in and drag the sleaze away from his partner, but he stayed still while Brennan replied coldly, "No, thank you."

"C'mon, sugar," he persisted. "Lemme buy you a drink and we can go sit someplace more private."

Her tiny sigh of resignation was heard through the speaker before she took a deep breath, answering quickly and brutally, "Firstly, do not call me sugar, secondly, I already have a drink, which you might have been able to see if you hadn't consumed an unhealthy amount of alcohol, and thirdly, your body odor is already unpleasant at this distance so I'm highly unlikely to want to move any closer to you."

There was a stunned silence from both the man in the car and the man in the bar.

While Booth let out a mental whoop of happiness, the other man finally regained the ability to speak, stammering in shock, "But-"

He didn't make it to the rest of the sentence. Booth guessed he was now on the receiving end of what he referred to as Brennan's "If looks could castrate..." glare and couldn't stop himself from smirking at the thought of the man slinking away, suitably scared of the formidable anthropologist.

Mildly relieved by Brennan's obvious capability in handling drunken horn-dogs, the agent relaxed back in his seat, propping one knee against the wheel and listening with amusement as she repeatedly turned down various interested parties. With his vast experience of long and boring stakeouts, Booth was surprised to find the time passing relatively quickly while Brennan kept knocking men back, her tone scathing but low enough so as to not be heard by the rest of the patrons and thus spoil her cover.

The more he heard her familiar voice through the transmitter, the more he forgot that she was still dressed up as Roxie, and so was taken by surprise when her accent suddenly changed, and she announced confidently, "I'm easy."

It took a moment for his brain to process the words, but when it did, his body responded instantaneously, jerking upright in his seat as he stared in disbelief at the transmitter as though it could explain just what the hell the respectable doctor had just said. Trying to recall what had prompted the remark, Booth's still shell-shocked mind produced a memory of a deep voice asking smoothly, "So, you playing hard to get, sweetheart?", and tried to focus on their suspect's reply to Brennan's declaration of easiness.

"Are you now? Because you didn't seem all that keen to talk to the men in here," said the man Booth assumed was Ridge.

Brennan laughed briefly, answering teasingly in the same Roxie voice, "Would you be?"

To Booth's relief, Ridge chuckled at the question, asking calmly, "So how come you're talking to me?"

_Because we want to arrest you, _Booth thought with a strange stab of jealousy, but Brennan opted for a more appropriate answer, saying suggestively, "Maybe you're more my type."

_Type? Type?! He deals drugs! And probably kills people! _Booth protested in disbelief. _Sure, as drug dealers go, he's actually quite well-educated and reasonably good looking, but still a drug dealer!_

Despite Booth's disagreement, the other man seemed pleased with Brennan's answer, offering casually, "How about I buy you a drink, and we go sit down?"

_No..._

"Sure."

_Dammit, Bones. And you've already got a drink._

"Let me just finish this drink."

_Always have to be one step ahead, don't you? _Before his snarky thoughts could continue, Booth wrinkled his nose as the sound of Brennan gulping her drink filtered through the speaker. _Jeez, Bones, could you drink any louder? It's like listening to someone chewing over the phone. _Making a note to tell her about the etiquette concerning downing one's drinks while wearing a wire, Booth again focused his attention back on the conversation when Brennan stopped drinking and when the background chatter in the bar grew quieter as she and their murder suspect moved to sit down.

"You got a name, darling? Or do I just keep calling you Little Miss Easy?"

_You call her that, and I may be forced to kill you. Slowly. Possibly with some kind of vegetable._

"Call me Roxie," Brennan informed him in Roxie's usual sultry voice. "And you would be...?"

_A jackass?_

"My friends call me Ridge."

Brennan's smile was almost audible as she purred, "Nice to meet you, Ridge." Another gulp of liquid made Booth wince, and she asked innocently, "So what are you doing here tonight? Do you come here often?"

Ridge chuckled. "I never would've had you down as a girl who used standard lines."

Before Booth could wonder whether his partner even knew what the standard lines were, she answered flirtatiously, "Let's just say I save my originality for other areas."

_Wha- Oh, Christ, Bones. Way to help me focus. _

Impressed, the suspect made a small noise of approval before returning to the original question. "Well, standard line or not, yes, I do come here often. I'm the co-owner."

From his experience of Roxie, Booth was fairly confident that his partner had promptly draped herself over the other man at this knowledge and gritted his teeth as she murmured, voice laced with subtext, "Wow. So you're in charge here? The boss of this _whole _place?"

_Oh, subtle. I'm so going to remember this the next time you pull the "women should be just as dominant as men" argument._

"That I am, sweetheart. And what might you be doing in my fine establishment tonight? Waiting for your boyfriend?"

_Hey, it's subtle-dum and subtle-dee!_

Brennan laughed briefly, her voice becoming coy as she replied, "Not exactly." Booth, and undoubtedly Ridge too, raised his eyebrows and she continued, "He's away in Atlantic City for the week, so..."

_Bones, you slut! _Booth thought in amusement, quietly congratulating his partner for playing the Forbidden Fruit card with a man who probably liked a challenge.

"Ah, so you're just trying to keep yourself occupied while he's away," Ridge finished, a knowing tone in his voice. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Right," she confirmed brightly. "Perfectly innocent, and what Tony doesn't know can't hurt him."

_Wait; Tony?! You're cheating on _me_?_

Ridge laughed briefly. "This Tony sounds like a fool. Probably off with some whore in Atlantic City while you're left here all on your own."

_I resent that! As if I'd ever choose anyone over Brennan..._

Evidently realising that further Tony-bashing would result in an irate FBI agent charging into the bar with the grace and finesse of an equally irate elephant, Brennan quickly changed the subject, asking curiously, "What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

There was a pause, which Booth worked out was a shake of the head when Ridge then elaborated, "Not anymore, no."

Seeing an opening, the agent sat up in his seat, willing his partner to seize the chance. _C'mon, Bones. Push, push, push. Imagine you're asking me about something I really don't want to talk about, and keep pushing till he admits defeat..._

"Not anymore?" she pressed with feigned casualness. "Didn't I hear you were dating Rosa-someone a few weeks ago?"

"Where did you hear that?" he snapped quickly, suspicion suddenly coloring his voice, and Booth felt a stab of panic at Brennan's now dangerous lack of subtlety.

_Don't say from the FBI, don't say from the FBI..._

"Around and about." The charm was back as she flattered, "You're pretty well-known in certain parts of this city. People like to know all about you..." Apparently it worked, as she then continued unabashed, "So you're not together anymore? You and Rosa?"

"No, no, she..." The dealer cleared his throat loudly. "She moved on."

Booth snorted inwardly. _Yeah, to the afterlife, you murdering bastard._

"Moved on?" Brennan asked, a forced lightness to her voice. "She dump you?"

"Babe, do I look like the kind of man who gets dumped?" he asked with bravado before sobering again as he tried to brush it off. "No, it was a mutual thing. We weren't working out, so we went our separate ways. Leaves me free to enjoy to the single life, you know?"

His voice grew louder toward the end of his last sentence, and Booth grimaced at the thought of him moving closer toward Brennan as he covered up his murder of his girlfriend. He heard her shift in her seat, breathing quickening as she settled nearer the suspect and commented, "I guess I can see the appeal of that. But that's why I like what I have with Tony; we both get the chance to have fun somewhere else, but we've always got someone to go back to." She took another sip of her drink and added conversationally, "Plus, the sex is great."

Booth's brain short-circuited at this comment, and he again stared at the transmitter in the hope of receiving an explanation. Unsurprisingly, the inanimate object did not magically produce a psychological analysis of his partner's behavior, so he was forced to listen again intently as Ridge said smoothly, "If it's that great, why're you here? Tony-boy not got the stamina he used to?"

_Excuse me?! My stamina's just fine thank you. Better than fine. It's great, so let's not go making Bones think otherwise, okay?_

Brennan just laughed sweetly. "No, Tony's great." Her tone became more seductive as she detailed further, "It's just that I've found if a relationship's firm, then it makes outside experimentation so much more enjoyable. Knowing you can do whatever you want with whoever you want, and still have your needs met at home whenever you want..." Her voice switched back to knowing as she asked, "Did you and Rosa not meet each other's needs? Because the single life is much more fun when you're not single."

Booth frowned, still confused as to where she was going with this. His sentiments were clearly echoed by Ridge as he inquired, not sure whether to be offended, "You saying I had problems with my girlfriend?"

_You saying he had problems with his girlfriend? Please tell me you're not taking a shot at motive now because that never works out well._

She made a noise that Booth assumed accompanied a shrug, and said innocently, "No. I just wanted to make sure that everything's in full working order before tonight goes any further."

The implications of the statement hit both men at the same time. Booth's eyes widened and his hand flew to the door handle in preparation for the other man's response, at the same time listening closely to see how the dealer would react.

"Full working order?!" Booth allowed himself a smirk at the level of outrage in the man's voice, still gripping the door handle. "Look, I don't know what the hell you think you're saying, sweetheart, but I got no problem pleasing my women. It's not my fault that the bitch decided to sleep around my back with some stupid college kid."

_Bones, I love you, _he thought triumphantly, scribbling a note to look for people Rosa Samuels might have been having an affair with.

However, Roxie evidently hadn't finished yet, and said mockingly, "In college? Wow, that's what, fifteen years younger than you?"

"Ten, alright? The goddamn kid's twenty-one and wouldn't live to be a day older if I had any say in it."

_Great, we got age and a possible assault. Good work, Bones; now stop aggravating the very dangerous man._

Brennan laughed briefly, provoking further, "No wonder you didn't want to tell me why you broke up with your girlfriend. That's got to be kind of embarrassing, her cheating on you like that. Disrespectful, really."

Booth swallowed hard as what sounded like a growl was heard over through the speaker, and Ridge spat angrily, "Don't be talking to me about respect. Rosa got what was coming to her, and you'd do well to keep your nose out of my business. I don't care how good you are in bed; no lay is worth this much hassle."

Despite the fact that their suspect had given them a hell of a lot to go on, Booth's concentration remained focused on his partner, his hand closing round his gun again as he waited nervously to see if she was in danger.

However, Roxie, much like her anthropologist counterpart, seemed to laugh in the face of danger. Or more accurately, flirt shamelessly in the face of danger. "Well, I don't know what kind of lay you're used to having, but trust me, I'm definitely worth this much hassle. Maybe if you weren't so focused on younger _men_, you might get to find out."

_Is it wrong that this is turning me on just a little? I've seen her antagonise dozens of people, and god knows I've been antagonised by her on a weekly basis, but somehow it's way less annoying and way more hot when she's Roxie._

"Younger-" Ridge took a deep breath, his anger seeping through the crackly transmitter. "I don't know what kind of crap this dumbass boyfriend of yours puts up with but I'm sure as hell not going to sit here and listen to you talk to me like this."

She clucked her tongue reproachfully. "Shame. I was actually thinking we might've been able to have some fun tonight." Booth could almost picture her pitying expression as she said with faux-sincerity, "Guess I'll just have to find a guy who doesn't lose his women to a kid." Her dress rustled as she got to her feet and she spoke with mocking cheerfulness, "Enjoy the single life."

With effort, Booth restrained himself from doing a physical victory dance in the car as he listened to Brennan's killer heels click their way out of the bar, accompanied by a shout of "Bitch!" from the humiliated drug dealer behind her. Unable to wait any longer, he bounded out of the car with the exuberance of a excited puppy, and jogged round the corner to meet her as she left the bar, a broad grin on his face.

"Bones, that was amazing!"

He reached her side and was pleased to note that her smile matched his own as she asked, "Did we get enough to arrest him?"

"Not yet, but he practically admitted that he had a hand in her death, and we've got the whole boyfriend angle to work on now." He wrapped his arm round her shoulders in a friendly hug as they walked. "_Really_ nice going in there. You know, getting him angry so he'd make a slip instead of trying to coax information out of him. Good call."

She beamed up at him, her smile all Brennan despite the Roxie lipstick, and said teasingly, "You're the one who always says I should stick to what I'm good at."

"When it comes to pissing people off, you are more than good." _And you're not bad at dressing up either, _his mind filled in, feeling the smooth material of the red dress as his hand slid down to its usual position on her lower back. _Why can't these dresses be introduced instead of lab-coats? _His mind leapt to the other members of the lab, specifically Doctors Addy and Hodgins, and he grimaced. _On second thoughts, maybe not._

Brennan scowled at him playfully in return for his earlier comment. "I'm going to take that as a compliment. Besides, I didn't see you volunteering to flirt with a murder suspect for information."

Now picturing himself in the red dress and feeling mildly nauseous at the thought, he changed the subject as they reached the car, "We can start looking into the affair tomorrow. For now, I'll drop you back at home and let you get rid of all traces of scumbag."

She smiled gratefully, walking quickly round the SUV as she tried to hold back the shivers from the cool night air. Still in a strangely contented daze from a successful evening of bad-guy-catching and Bones-basking, Booth rested for a moment outside of the car, his arm propped on the open door as his eyes mindlessly followed his partner.

Watching her curled hair bounce above her shoulders and her dress whip around her legs as she hurried into the warmth of the car, he let out a small sigh of self-deprecation at the thought that occurred. _Great, I can ogle her all night and even get turned on by the sound of her voice, but somehow fall at the 'By the way, I quite like you' hurdle. Jeez, I'm pathetic sometimes. _

Dragged back to reality by the sound of the passenger door slamming shut, Booth's mouth curved up in an optimistic smirk as he realised cheerfully, _Hey, at least I managed to stay pain-free this time. A whole evening of catching bad guys with a dressed-up Bones and I didn't get blown up, beaten up, or knocked out by a deceptively solid table. _He moved to get into the car, his smirk morphing into a full-blown grin. _I call that a success._

The last thought barely made it out of his head before said head impacted hard against the car roof as he slid inside.

Karma apparently disagreed.

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_Reviews loved, cherished and adored._


	35. I Fear I Am Bold

_A/N: Huge thanks to everybody who reviewed the last chapter and equally huge apologies for the slowness of this one. (Also for any typos - it's late, I'm tired, etc.)_

_**Rated M for smuttiness.**__ If that's not your thing, please skip this one and I'll try to get something else written soon. (Emphasis on the word "try"; life is unfortunately crazy at the moment.) _

_Quick CBPC plug (in very short sentences): The CBPC is a monthly Bones oneshot writing challenge. It's fun and there are prizes. This month's challenge is to write about anything involving alcohol. I am helping to judge and am easily pleased. You should all write something. Now. This instant. _

_Okay, not right this instant. I'll give you ten to fifteen minutes to read this chaptory and leave a review (because I'm nice like that.)_

_Seriously though, the CBPC is a great little challenge and I will happily provide extra details to anyone who wants them!_

* * *

**I fear I am bold...**

"When you said you wanted to do an experiment, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Eyes closed as he lay slumped on his couch, Booth couldn't stop his lips from curving up in a smile at the note of whining in his girlfriend's voice. After briefly debating whether to call the Guinness Book of Records to inform them that Temperance "I heart Science" Brennan was actually complaining about an experiment, he settled on a course of action which required far less movement and replied defensively, "Hey, there was experimenting involved. There were chemicals and reactions and different variables..." He shifted a little at the stickyness of his t-shirt but smiled as he added, "And explosions. It's really not that different from what you do at the lab."

She looked back at him, a tired yet playful smirk on her lips as she commented, "Other experiments aren't usually this strenuous."

Booth was pleased to discover that his eyebrows were now functioning in addition to his mouth and eyes, and he raised them cheerfully. "Then you've been doing it wrong."

She groaned quietly, both at the comment and at the enthusiasm in his voice, and fixed him with a "If I still had full use of my limbs, I'd slap you" stare. Receiving a chuckle of laughter in response to what she deemed a fearsome stare, Brennan mumbled grouchily, "How do you still have so much energy left?" Booth opened his mouth to reply but she interrupted quickly, "And if you say the word 'stamina', I will reinstate the Moroccan beer in my fridge."

His eyes widened in genuine horror. "Why would you do that?"

Brennan just raised her eyebrows in warning and Booth quickly conceded defeat. "Fine, no mention of stamina." He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut again as he inquired, "Did you at least enjoy yourself today? 'Cause from what I saw, you looked like you were having a good time, but if you don't like this kind of experiment..."

The unspoken implication was clear, and she reassured honestly, "I enjoyed it, Booth. It may not have been what I had in mind when you asked me to come round, but it was very intriguing." She caught the expression on his face and amended sheepishly, "And a little fun."

Something twinged pleasurably inside her at the sight of her partner's broad grin and she relaxed further into the couch cushions, murmuring in contented contemplation, "I never realised Diet Coke and Mentos would produce such a powerful reaction..."

Hearing the sincerity in her voice, Booth smiled to himself, mentally congratulating his son on involving Dr Brennan in their afternoon's activities.

After they'd returned from church that morning, Parker had ever-so-politely asked his father whether they could spend the afternoon conducting a scientific experiment. Given that on a recent test the boy had decided plants grew best when kept under strobe lighting and fed human blood, Booth had readily agreed in the hopes of increasing his interest in the subject.

Unfortunately, Parker took after his father in this respect, limiting his interest to the parts of science which involved explosions, Bones or sea-chimps. Since Booth had explained that firing sea-chimps out with the cola was probably not the best idea, the eight-year-old had settled for Plan B, calling up his father's girlfriend of three months and asking if she could come round and help because she likes science and they like her and Dad might need some help with the experiments 'cause he gets confused real easily.

With a quick clarification from Booth that he was actually capable of dropping mints in a Coke bottle without her supervision, Brennan had gamely turned up in the garden behind his apartment to watch the two Booths create a five-foot-high explosion of cola and then applaud like they'd just witnessed the moon landing. As interesting as the chemical reaction was, Brennan had been content to employ the "I came, I saw, I expressed approval at confectionery being added to a carbonated beverage" philosophy until she received her first lesson in how much children (and Seeley Booth) enjoy repetition.

Prompted by cries of "Again! Again!" from his son, Booth had made a quick journey to the nearest store and had returned triumphantly with more Mentos and an assortment of cherry, grape, lime, and orange sodas. Brennan had then moved back to a safe viewing distance to watch Little Booth and Large Booth set off multi-colored explosions with more glee than she could fully comprehend.

However, as one would expect from a former sniper and his son, they had soon worked out that the cola could be expelled horizontally as well as vertically, and Brennan had taken on the role of ammunition-supplier for the cola-gun war which erupted in the garden. This battle had resulted in a lot of empty plastic bottles, some sticky yet happy Booths, a little less money in Brennan's purse, and a bewildered Rebecca inquiring what the hell Booth had done to her previously clean son. When Parker had been wrapped in some towels and packed off home, the exhausted couple had gladly collapsed on the agent's couch, slowly regaining the use of their limbs after the day's exertions.

Adjusting his position on the couch and feeling the tee shirt cling to his skin, Booth finally remembered who had paid for the soda he had been repeatedly doused and glanced over at his girlfriend as he inquired openly, "How much do I owe you?"

"For the babysitting?" she asked teasingly. "I do look after you for free everyday at work."

Booth nudged her ankle reproachfully with his own. "Funny." His sarcasm faded as he spoke again, "Seriously, Bones, you can take the money from my jacket. You shouldn't have to pay for me and Parker."

She shrugged. "It was store-brand cola, Booth; it's hardly going to bankrupt me."

He shifted again, this time from something other than physical discomfort. "Bones..."

Unfazed, Temperance smiled at him, her tone light-hearted as she said, "When you get a seven-figure book deal, you can get your publishers to pay me back then."

Booth's eyes dropped to the floor and he ran his hand awkwardly through his sticky hair. Too tired to get into a discussion about his obvious financial inferiority, he pushed the remaining packets of Mentos over to her with his foot and made an attempt at levity as he said, "Alright, but only if you take the rest of these." Brennan smiled and he relaxed slightly, suggesting with a shrug, "Eat them, burn them, drown them, chop them into little minty pieces; do whatever you want as long as I never have to see them again."

She wiggled her bare feet on the coffee table before glancing over at him slyly. "You know, I might have a better way for you to pay me back."

The agent's brow wrinkled and he frowned at her, puzzled by where this was going. "Huh?"

Apparently tapping into a hidden reserve of energy, Brennan pushed herself to her feet, towering over her slouched partner with a familiar predatory glint in her eyes. "Call it another experiment." A smirk played on her lips as she instructed simply, "Take your shirt off."

Booth's eyebrows shot up and he complained tiredly, "Bones, I'm disgusting. I'm sticky, I'm covered in cola-"

"Which is why I'm telling you to take your shirt off," she answered logically. "Besides, it's not like you haven't been sticky around me before."

Fully aware of the after-effects of using dessert toppings in the bedroom, he made another attempt at dissuasion. "I'm exhausted." He looked up at her, brown eyes revealing a mixture of pleading and reluctant arousal. "Can we wait till later? Because four working limbs would be kind of useful..."

Ever literal, Temperance raised her hands and bent her knees in demonstration, saying with a smile, "I count four." Her voice softened slightly as she moved closer, bending over him and letting her fingers toy with the bottom of his shirt, "Just relax, okay?"

Confused but too tired to resist, Booth yielded to her insistent hands but grimaced as the damp shirt was peeled off his skin. He fell back against the sofa and blinked sleepily up at his girlfriend who looked down at him and ordered teasingly, "Stay."

Not able or willing to move anywhere, he managed a sarcastic "Woof" in return and received a playful pat on his somewhat crunchy hair as she moved behind him, busying herself with something out of his sightline. Feeling a little guilty about letting her look after him, Booth sat up and moved to look round when he felt material slip over his eyes, plunging him into darkness. He deduced from the equally crunchy nature of the blindfold that she'd commandeered Parker's bandanna from the Rambo stage of their battle but still couldn't stop his eyes from fluttering shut in the enforced dark.

Deciding that falling asleep mid-coitus would be rude (and then inwardly debating whether a blow-job counted as 'coitus'), he gave a cursory warning. "Bones, making it nice and dark is really not the best way to help me sta-"

He fell silent as the familiar sound of clothes hitting carpet reached his ears, and groaned in realisation. "Oh, you're naked, aren't you?"

Temperance's voice remained matter-of-fact as ever as she answered simply, "Not fully naked, no. Just enough to avoid making an unnecessary mess of my clothes."

He was taken by surprise when the couch cushions suddenly shifted on either side of him, but let out a whimper as he felt his partner's weight rest partly on his lap. Knowing that he was missing one of his favorite parts of foreplay, he reached up to slide the blindfold off, only to have his whimper turn into a yelp when she slapped his hand away, letting it drop down to brush against her thigh instead.

"Leave it on."

Booth jumped at the feel of her warm breath against his cheek as she murmured the command in his ear, but quickly relaxed when the same warmth seemed to radiate from her body to his. Tilting his head to where he guessed her eyes were, he remarked with the slightest hint of a pout in his voice, "You know, I got nothing against watching you while you're like this. Really, blindfold not necessary."

"Yes, it is."

The tickling sensation was back before he could protest as she exhaled against his jaw, following the phantom caress with a soft brush of lips against his stubbled skin. Greedy for more contact, he instinctively offered his neck to her teasing lips and she obliged, planting light, barely there kisses down his throat which were intermingled with whispered words of explanation, "The loss of one sense serves to heighten the others."

Her teeth grazed his shoulder and he bit back a gasp.

"Your body will become more aware of sound-"

Her lips closed round his earlobe, sucking gently to let the sound sink in.

"Smell-"

Her hand cupped his cheek, her perfumed wrist resting under his nose as he inhaled the fresh scent.

"Touch-"

Her hips rocked slowly above him, causing him to bite his lower lip as her ass brushed purposefully against the crotch of his too-tight jeans.

"And taste."

Her tongue flicked across his collarbone, kissing so firmly that he wondered whether he'd end up with a hickey the next day. The pressure disappeared as swiftly as it began, her lips then moving to meet his for the first time and her tongue instantly plundering his mouth as she ground her hips against him again. He returned the kiss with the same desire, his lips ignoring the tiredness of the rest of his body for the sake of savoring her taste for as long as he could.

Tongues meeting, Booth pulled back a little in surprise at the unexpected difference in flavor and Brennan kissed him at the side of the mouth, her words transferring between their lips as she commented softly, "I'd say that one was cherry."

Before he could work out what she meant, he was kissed soundly again, his head cupped and held in place by her hands while his own rested comfortably on her waist. The contact between their lips was passionate yet brief, and Booth loosened his hold on her as she moved down his body, this time sucking gently on his left nipple before concentrating her kiss on the sensitive spot below his pectoral, again laving the skin with her tongue and applying just the right pressure to cause him to arch up into her touch with a moan escaping his throat.

Any further noise was silenced as her mouth closed on his again, tongues duelling but with a different taste acting as the battlefield. Intrigued and confused, he pushed up against her, trying to gain enough leverage to explore the new flavor when she abruptly pulled away and whispered with a smile in her voice, "Lime."

Realisation dawned as Booth suddenly recognised the taste of the colas he'd been covered in. He smiled against her throat, suggesting teasingly, "All we need now is some salt and tequila."

He felt her smile back, her kisses now trailing lower down his body before following the line of one of his ribs as he lay panting on the couch. The forceful kiss still came as a surprise and his hands moved to squeeze her ass firmly while her mouth teased an otherwise insignificant location on his side.

When Brennan pulled away, he instinctively parted his lips, expecting the flavor-filled kiss, but instead let out a moan of pleasure as his jeans were smoothly unzipped and his confined cock was worked free of his boxers and pants. Happy for his girlfriend's mouth to be engaged in things other than kissing, he was taken aback when her tongue met his once more, sharing the new, tangy taste before she edged back, catching his bottom lip between his teeth as she went.

"O-orange?" he ventured, trying hard to focus on whatever game she was playing and not on the feel of her ass rubbing tantalisingly against his bare length.

"Orange," she repeated in the same tone she recorded results in, and Booth couldn't ignore the memory of the many fantasies he'd had about the cool, scientific side of his partner.

However, when he felt her weight move off his legs, he almost whimpered.

Trying for curious rather than pleading, he asked, confused, "Bones?"

Her hands landed on his thighs and he jumped, his own hands gripping the soft cushions of the couch. She chuckled softly before whispering, "Relax."

Fully aware of the disagreement from his cock, Booth made a concerted effort, letting his shoulders slump and his hands rest flat on the couch. This attempt was rewarded by a soft kiss to his chest, and he found himself inexplicably relaxing and tensing up at the same time as her mouth continued to move lower. Still blindfolded, he let his eyes drift shut and almost sighed in contentment as Brennan's lips closed around each nipple in turn, kissing and sucking gently until she elicited the desired moan from her partner.

Desperate for some kind of friction, he clenched his fists to try to prevent thrusting up as she leaned over him, still administering slow, blissfully torturous kisses to his exposed torso. His moans took on a pleading note as her mouth found his navel, her tongue flicking in and out as though taunting him with its abilities. Gasping, he instinctively spread his legs further and adjusted his position on the couch, knowing that he was on the verge of begging and wishing his eyes weren't covered so he wouldn't have to use his voice to plead.

Unfortunately, Brennan seemed to remain as oblivious as always and instead turned her attention to the ridge of his pelvic bone which was just visible above the waistline of his jeans. He groaned louder at the touch, biting down on his lower lip as he whimpered pleadingly, "Fuck, Temperance..."

Any further begging was replaced by a sigh of satisfaction when her warm mouth closed round the head of his cock, and he unconsciously repeated himself, this time lacing the words with relieved gratitude, "Fuck, Temperance..."

The relief didn't last long, and when she swirled her tongue around his head, Booth's hips suddenly bucked off the couch at the new feeling, causing him to gasp in surprise, "Christ, Bones, what the hell was that?"

He regretted speaking as soon as he felt her mouth move away from his cock, but before he could explain that it wasn't a complaint, she kissed him thoroughly on the lips, ensuring his tongue brushed against the distinctive source of the sensation.

He pulled back in disbelief, asking with an amazed laugh, "Mint? You're eating Mentos while you're-"

Before he could finish, Brennan had opted for 'show' rather than 'tell' and Booth's entire body stiffened as she continued, stroking the base of his shaft with a moistened hand while driving him quickly toward the edge with the combination of licks and sucks, and the minty tingling from the small candy.

Booth's hands slid into her hair, gripping more out of attempted self-restraint than attempted control as he tried to resist guiding the motions of her head up and down his shaft. Eyes shut and teeth clenched, he forced himself to keep breathing slowly, determined not to let a tiny mint reduce his endurance to that of a teenager, but as his partner's skilful tongue traced the thick vein on the underside of his cock before she took the head deep in her mouth, he let out a strangled warning. "Bones, I'm going to-"

Her only answer was to increase the pressure from her mouth and her hands, lips locked firmly round his length, until Booth couldn't take it any longer. Hands tightening in her hair and head falling back against the sofa, he came with a cry, calling out her name as he flew over the edge with more force than either of them expected, electricity firing pleasurably down every nerve of his body as he rode out the climax.

Finally, reality gradually trickled back into his overloaded senses, and his return to earth was accompanied by the lingering effects of the mint as Temperance pulled away. Breathing heavily, he lay still on the couch, hands slipping bonelessly from her hair as she carefully tucked him back inside his boxers. Booth's eyes fluttered open, and after a brief panic that he had actually gone blind from one too many orgasms, he felt her slide the blindfold off him, concerned blue eyes locking with his sleepy brown ones.

Still feeling the tingling in his nerves subsiding, he managed a lop-sided grin, murmuring softly, "Bones, that was amazing."

The worry in her eyes vanished, replaced instead by a twinkle of satisfaction and a broad smile as she pointed out, "You say that every time."

"And I mean it every time, trust me. But that..." He shook his head as he looked in disbelief at the packets of candy on the table. "How did you even learn to do that?"

Her smile became one of mock-innocence. "I told you it was an experiment."

Sleepy and sated, he tugged his lingerie-clad girlfriend down next to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he offered, "You know, you can count me in as a guinea pig for any future experiments."

He rubbed his nose teasingly against hers as she said playfully, "I'll remember that next time I want to test a murder scenario."

Smirking, he nudged her gently in the ribs before meeting her eyes again and saying honestly, "Thank you."

Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her gently, both of them now enjoying the taste and sensation of each other rather than the artificial additives. When they finally broke apart, heads resting together and their bodies entwined on the couch, Booth dropped his mouth to his partner's ear and traced her bare inner thigh as he spoke, "You know, this doesn't really count as me paying you back for the soda. In fact, this definitely seems like I did more taking than giving."

She smiled at him. "Oh, there was giving."

Booth chuckled but his hand purposefully inched up her thigh, his tone sincere as he said, "C'mon, Bones. It's only fair..."

Studying him for a moment, Temperance asked knowingly, "You still want to pay me back?"

He nodded, kissing her lightly on the neck as he moved to kneel between her legs.

She pressed further. "And you'd do anything I wanted?"

Having a pretty good idea what she did want, Booth nodded a second time, his fingers toying with the lace of her panties as the kisses continued.

"Are you sure?"

Now gaining his second wind, he nodded confidently from where his head was positioned between her breasts. Hearing no other objection, he started to slip his fingers under the edge of her panties when suddenly he found her hands either side of his face, guiding him back and away from her as she looked at him firmly. Before he could ask what he, or his fingers, had done wrong, Brennan pointed towards the bathroom and ordered, "Shower. Now."

"But-"

Her hands went to her hips as she stood, and Booth did his best to look at her face, not at her lace-covered breasts which seemed that much more accessible. "Booth, you're covered in cola. If I'm getting any kind of payback this evening, I'd like it to be with someone who doesn't stick to the sheets like they're made out of flypaper." Her tone softened a little and she reiterated with a smile, "Shower. Now."

Returning the smile, Booth gave a mock-salute as he pushed himself to his feet, grimacing a little at the way the sofa appeared to want to come with him. "Yes, Ma'am." Zipping himself up, he headed to the bathroom, saying as he went, "You know, telling me to wash doesn't exactly count as payback either."

"I'm sure I can think of something else," she called back, sitting down on the couch while he padded across the carpet with bare feet.

She heard him laugh before the bathroom door clicked shut, and then propped her feet on the coffee table again with a peaceful sigh. Her foot knocked one of the remaining packets of Mentos and she watched absently as the blue-and-white-wrapped candy rolled slowly off the wooden table. Remembering Booth's earlier declaration about what she could have in return for buying the cola, she smiled a little to herself, wondering what the agent's reaction would be if she did indeed burn, drown or dissect the suddenly useful mints.

The same thought had evidently occurred to Booth and, as if on cue, his tousled head poked round the bathroom door with an expression of worry on his face. Brennan watched in amusement as his eyes darted to the table, verifying that the candy was still there, before meeting her own gaze as he asked with seriously panicked concern, "You're not destroying the Mentos, right?"

* * *

_I should so work in the Mentos marketing department: "Mentos: fun for all kinds of experiments." For those of you who don't know what Mentos are, they're basically a small minty candy which, when combined with Diet Coke, create a large cola fountain. It's pretty awesome._

_Reviews much loved as always and thank you for reading!_


	36. You Leave Me No Choice

_A/N: Huge thanks to everybody who reviewed the last chapter, and to all those who've got this fic and/or me on alerts._

_This idea for this story comes largely from the wonderful _goldpiece_, whose family evidently has some very interesting anecdotes to share... It's done from a stranger's POV as in chaptory 27, so please don't think I've posted the wrong fic (ahem, mumrulz, ahem). _

_Sadly, this'll be the last chapter for a while - I've got about four half-chapters sitting on my computer but I'll be without internet access for three months over the summer. I really did want to get this story finished before I left, but RL's been unfortunately busy over the last few months so there are still a lot more chapters to write in September. __**Set in the future**__ and rated T._

* * *

**But you leave me no choice...**

Much to the surprise of his mother, his friends and his pet Labrador, Mark Williams liked his job.

Admittedly, being an airport security guard wasn't the most exciting role he could've hoped for, although it did beat the summer spent selling fertilizer door-to-door in his teens, but Mark found it rewarding to know that he was protecting the borders of the United States of America and tackling terrorism on home soil. True, the most dangerous thing he'd found in someone's luggage was a smuggled parakeet with a deceptively sharp beak, but that didn't rule out the possibility of someday finding weapons-grade plutonium nestled between a pair of granny panties and a romance novel.

This prospect seemed far less exciting to his non-work friends and family, who almost unanimously wondered just what the hell he was doing with his life. His mother, Edna, regarded him as something of a lost cause after he'd failed to get the necessary college degree required to join the FBI and had also failed the standard police fitness test as a result of one too many trips to the Krispy Kreme store.

His friends, who had first known him as the blond-haired, blue-eyed football player from high school, found it difficult to accept that he was now spending his days feeling people up for a living and 'hand job' jokes were always forthcoming during nights out. Even his faithful dog, Rupert, shot him pitying glances when he returned from work, as though questioning why his master would choose to frisk strangers all day instead of taking him for walks and buying him large chewy frisbees in a variety of lurid colors.

Mark himself, however, was mostly happy with the way his life had turned out. He'd made good friends at Dulles Airport, liked what he did for a living, and was about seventy percent certain that the coffee-shop girl had flirted with him the day before.

Unfortunately, any further flirting on either of their parts had been put on hold for the day.

Some high-up government source (of which there were plenty in DC) had provided intelligence on a possible terrorism threat and in response, the airport had tightened security, establishing body and baggage scanners at the entrances to Dulles International to check visitors as well as those who were flying.

This didn't disturb the majority of the airport activity, since the hire cars and taxis waited outside for their clients, but did require the drafting of extra personnel to deal with those who wanted to meet their loved ones inside. For Mark, the "drafting of extra personnel" would more appropriately be termed "making him work overtime and robbing him of the chance to moon over Coffee-Shop Betty".

And so he was there, stationed at the 'Visitors Only' security checkpoint while he waved people's loved ones through to the arrivals' gate and tried unsuccessfully to tune out the incessant small talk from his coworker, Harriet.

"Then Greg told Chris that his fingers would fall off if he poked the toad, and of course, Chris can never resist an experiment, like with my sister last summer when he ate his cousin's hair..."

_Please be quiet, _he thought pleadingly. _I don't need to hear any more about your compulsive eater of a son. Just be quiet._

"Of course, that was the same weekend that he'd had the incident with the chair, so I suppose the hair-eating could be attributed to Post-Traumatic Stress..."

_Post Traumatic Stress?! He spent an hour with his head stuck in a chair, not a year fighting in the Gulf._

"He still looks at chairs strangely even now. I'm just glad that Mrs Clegg next door had a handsaw in her shed or he'd have been in there for hours." She wrinkled her brow briefly, still keeping her eyes fixed on the slow procession of visitors through the scanners. "I never did find out why Mrs Clegg had that handsaw. Seems like a strange thing to keep lying around..."

_She's a serial killer. She chops up people and stores them in her basement. With any luck, you'll be next and I can go back to being partnered with Sarah. _He let out a small sigh. _Okay, drug smugglers, terrorists and/or illegal parakeet exporters, now would be a good time for you to let me catch you._

"Anyway, so the boys had been learning about reptiles in science class, and I know a toad isn't a reptile, but you can see how they'd be easily mistaken for one, right? So the kissing was really just a scientific inquiry, and I don't want to discourage them from their studies, but I'm honestly not comfortable with my son becoming intimate with amphibians-"

To Mark's immense relief, the discussion of toad-intimacy was abruptly drowned out by the alarm sounding from the metal detector.

He rushed forward, fighting the urge to set up a small shrine in honor of the wonderful person who'd saved him from the conversation and gave the woman in question a reassuring smile. When the alarm fell silent, he gestured to the overcoat covering her slim frame, asking politely, "Could you remove your coat please, ma'am? Just slide it into the X-ray machine with your shoes and then give the metal detector another try."

"Excuse me?"

Not expecting that response but still deciding that Little Miss Trenchcoat was a better option that Harriet "Here's My Life Story" Griffin, he focused his attention on the confused brunette, explaining slowly, "The buckles on your coat are setting off the alarm. You need to go back through, put your coat on the same conveyer belt that you put your shoes and purse on, and then walk back through the metal detector again."

The woman's bright blue eyes narrowed but she replied calmly, "No."

It was Mark's turn to ask, perplexed, "Excuse me?"

"I'm not taking my coat off," she repeated slowly. "I'm just here to pick up my partner; it's not like I'm smuggling a bomb."

Like dogs with the smell of bacon, every Customs agent in the area seemed to prick up their ears at the 'b'-word and stare suspiciously at the increasingly stubborn Little Miss Trenchcoat. Mark Williams squared his (slightly squishier than they used to be) shoulders, fairly confident that the woman was not actually wrapped in Semtex, but nevertheless willing to follow the required protocol, if only to spare himself the pain of listening to more creepy exploits of Harriet's creepy son.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step over here so that a female agent can search you. We also need to ask you a few questions about the purpose of your visit to Dulles International Airport today."

The woman cast her eyes heavenward, letting out a despairing sigh as she spoke in annoyance, "Listen, I'm not some sort of terrorist." There was a not-so-subtle gasp from the eavesdropping guards at the 't'-word but she continued, unfazed, "My name is Dr Temperance Brennan, I work at the Jeffersonian Institute, and I'm here to pick up my partner who is an FBI Agent."

Mark's doorman-like confidence faltered for a moment. "You're an FBI Agent?"

She blinked at him in the same manner his dog had blinked at him when he'd tripped over his lead that morning and wedged himself in the trash can for twenty minutes. "No. I believe I just said that my partner's an FBI Agent. I work with the FBI as a forensic anthropologist."

Mark briefly thought back to his training, trying to remember whether 'forensic anthropologist' was on the list of people they were officially allowed to clear without search. _FBI Agents, CIA Agents, DEA Agents, US senators, US presidents, American Idol winners... Nope, no forensic anthropologists. _

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we'll still need to search you." He glanced over at Harriet and jumped at finding her hovering curiously at his shoulder. Forcing a smile on his face, and tamping down the urge to shove his irritating partner head first into the X-Ray machine, he said politely, "My colleague will search you, Dr Brennan, and then you'll have to come with us for questioning."

"Questioning? Why would I need-"

Her angry question was silenced by the Breath of Doom from Harriet, which was remarkably similar to a child's intake of air before screaming at the top of their lungs but was instead used to prepare for a particularly long monologue, thankfully not directed at Mark this time. "Just lift your arms a little for me, ma'am. Yes, that's it; I always think of airplanes when I ask people to do this, which is funny really seeing as how this place is actually an airport with actual planes, but my son, Chris, loves to do airplane impressions like this, only I can't pick him up anymore to do it properly, what with my sciatica and him weighing as much as he does."

Mark smirked a little at the look of horror on Brennan's face as Harriet prattled on while patting down her arms and torso, and he began to wonder whether the woman would end up head-first in the X-Ray machine after all.

Oblivious to the waves of annoyance emanating from the anthropologist, she continued on regardless, "I mean, it's not his fault he's getting so big. Just part your legs a little for me, ma'am. I know growing boys need to eat, and I can't bring myself to say no when he asks me for food - it's the big brown eyes that do it. I swear he gets them from his father... Anyway, I feel like a horrible mother if I say no, but I'm starting to really question whether eleven Tootsie Pops a day is healthy for a boy his a-"

Blessed silence reigned for a second.

So busy basking in the glow of the quietness, Mark almost missed Harriet's wide-eyed stare as she looked back at him, hands frozen in place.

That place was halfway up Brennan's leg.

Above a pair of black stilettos.

Below a pair of black panties.

And surrounded by very little else.

_Oh._

Mindful of the jealous nature of Federal Agents after an accidental hand slippage when searching the sister of one, and confident that the woman who turned up to meet her 'partner' in lingerie, heels and a trenchcoat was definitely something more than a sister, he stepped forward, stopping Harriet from edging into sexual harassment territory as he stammered, "Uh, Dr Brennan, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." He nodded briefly to his colleague before gesturing to a side room. "This way please."

Her hands went to her waist and she schooled her features into another expression which resembled that of his beloved dog, this time the one seen after Rupert had sprawled happily on _his _couch and resisted any suggestions that he should move his doggy butt to the floor where it belonged. (Suffice to say, Mark Williams had spent many nights watching television from the floor.)

Doubtful he could lift the stubborn anthropologist any more easily than he could lift his hefty Labrador, he opted for persuasion. "Please come this way, ma'am; you're not in any trouble, we just want to ask you a few questions about your earlier statements and about, uh..." _Your decision to wear lingerie to an airport. What your partner/boyfriend did to end up with a girlfriend like you. Any friends you might have who would be interested in dating an airport security guard. _"Uh, the issue with the scanner. Just through here, please."

She hesitated for a moment, but then gave a reluctant nod, following him to the interview room with a brief sigh of relief, which Mark suspected was because the ever-chatty Harriet had thankfully been left behind.

However, any relief he himself felt vanished abruptly as the door shut behind him and Brennan whirled to face him, hands planted on her hips as she asked, annoyed, "Do I really need to be here? I'm not carrying any weapons or explosives; I just came to pick up my partner from his flight from Miami."

Easing himself to a seat, Mark feigned a glance at his clipboard and prompted with attempted casualness, "When you say partner..."

Heels clicking on the gray floor as she paced, Brennan sighed loudly. "Partner, colleague, boyfriend, lover; is there a specific term you'd prefer?"

Mark wisely remained silent when it came to categorising the man this particular woman would risk public semi-nudity for, but strongly suspected that he'd fall into the "lover" category, with a likely side order of "pretty damn good in bed". Instead he opted to divert the subject. "This partner of yours, you said he works for the FBI?"

Another sigh. "Special Agent Seeley Booth with the Homicide Division of the FBI. I work with him and with the FBI to solve crimes, and are these questions really necessary?"

Realising his less-than-professional interest had been busted, Mark actually changed the subject this time rather than simply approaching from a different angle, and asked the required question, "Dr Brennan, why did you refuse to comply with the approved instruction to remove your coat for the scanner?"

The "I can't believe you're stuck in a trash can" stare returned, and he dropped his eyes to his clipboard as she answered slowly and patronisingly, "Because, as you know, I'm not fully clothed underneath this coat and I had no inclination to remove it in public."

He dutifully wrote his notes, but pushed, confused, "But you did choose to come to the airport and run that risk, correct?"

She folded her arms under her breasts, her voice cool but confident as she spoke, "I didn't know about the excess security measures in place or I might have reconsidered, but I was intending to meet my partner and am not ashamed in that respect. Sexual preferences vary greatly and this variation of foreplay is surprisingly popular, both for the men and women involved." She leaned forward, voice becoming warmer as her enthusiasm grew. "Actually, the Sabaka tribe from a remote part of Indonesia practice a similar version, in which the woman wears a large grass garment, almost like a kaftan, with nothing underneath and spends a whole day working around camp before participating in the bridal ritual in the evening. There have even been similarities drawn with the Scottish custom among men of going naked under their kilts, and with the Lithuanian habit of-"

"Thank you, Dr Brennan," he interrupted bluntly, fairly certain that his Customs report didn't cover customs of the Indonesian mating variety. "That explains your reluctance to remove your coat, but not your insistence that you didn't have a bomb on your body and that you weren't a terrorist."

Her blue eyes narrowed in a frown. "I'm not allowed to say that I'm not a terrorist?"

"No, it just-"

She pressed on. "So I have to say that I am a terrorist?"

He was lost. "You're a terrorist?"

"Well, no," Brennan stated firmly. "But you objected to me saying that I wasn't."

"So you're not a terrorist?"

"No," she concluded firmly before falling silent and looking at him expectantly.

Mark's brain tried to catch up with the conversation that had just happened, but it drew the line at translating it into note form, writing instead, _Is definitely not a terrorist. _Before his poor, over-worked mind could regroup for the next question, his foolhardy mouth spoke almost of its own accord, "And the bomb?"

Brennan's eyes widened and she sat up in her chair, speaking in disbelief, "The bomb? I told you I didn't have a bomb."

"Yes, but that suggests that you might know, uh, that there was one." He swallowed, clarifying nervously, "A bomb, I mean."

She wrinkled her brow, thoroughly perplexed. "Is that not what you were checking for?"

Mark felt like his brain was trying to fight its way through a large sea of Jello towards the mythical isle of 'Sense' which remained infuriatingly elusive. "Huh?"

"The scanners and X-Ray machines are both in place to check for bombs; it's only logical to assume that you thought there would be a bomb, and I was trying to be helpful when I told you I didn't have one." She nodded conclusively. "I still don't, for that matter."

Smirking briefly at the notion that she could have cobbled a bomb together in the time it had taken them to walk to the interview room, he managed a slightly intimidated nod at her statement. "Thank you for the clarification." Ducking his head, he wrote quickly, _Does not have bomb. Has not made bomb. Is in no way bomb-involved._

Satisfied, he got to his feet with the smile of someone very keen to race out of the lion's den. "That's pretty much all the questions I have for you, Dr Brennan. I'll send my female colleague in to finish the basic search in privacy, but after that, you'll be free to see your, uh, partner."

The anthropologist sighed, and Mark valiantly resisted the urge to sprint out of there before she could launch another objection, instead listening courteously as she repeated tiredly, "Is that really necessary?"

_Yes, yes, it is. I'm actually starting to pity the man who gets to see you without that coat, and that's saying something. _

He started to tune out as Brennan continued, "It's not like I could hide anything anywhere. Could you not just check and then let me go to meet Agent Booth?"

His response was automatic. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's against protocol to-"

_Holy mother of God._

'Automatic' apparently broke down when faced with a trenchcoat-holding, lingerie-clad anthropologist standing ready to be searched.

"Uh, ma'am, I-"

Speech failed him as well when she turned round, raising her arms out to the sides and practically inviting his eyes to travel down the black straps of her bra, the smooth lines of her hips and the curve of her ass which was accentuated by her small black panties.

_I- It- This- _He took a deep breath and had a brief mental pep talk. _C'mon, Mark, be a man. _She turned back round and his eyes fell on her covered breasts. _Not a man in that sense though. That would be bad, and wrong, and unprofessional, and might get you beaten up by an FBI Agent. Which would be a Bad Plan. Focus on Good Plans. Good Plans are good._

"Is that enough?" Brennan inquired matter-of-factly. "As far as I'm concerned you've done your job."

_I have a job? _A mental smack from the part of his mind which craved paychecks and the subsequent fix of Krispy Kremes. _Yes, I have a job. Right. _

"Thank you for your co-operation, Dr Brennan, but official regulations state that the search completion section of the form must be signed by a woman."

She shrugged and reached for the pen. "I'm a woman."

"A woman officer," he clarified, taking a leap back with a barely contained yelp at the thought of a semi-naked and surprisingly aggressive woman swooping in to steal his pen. "I- I'll just go get, uh, my colleague. Wait here," he squeaked nervously, before dashing out of the door and deciding that dealing with actual terrorists would be preferable to staring down Dr Brennan again.

Composing himself as best he could, he headed over to the unoccupied Harriet, intending to spare another colleague from an enthusiastic and unstoppable monologue about little Chris' penchant for munching his way through her lipstick. He was therefore surprised to find that Harriet had not attached herself, like a story-telling limpet, to a fellow security guard, but was talking and gesturing to a tall, dark-haired man who he guessed was a passenger from the bag that was slung over his shoulder. Mark began to walk over to another female co-worker but was stopped when Harriet turned to face him, smiling broadly and waving as though guiding in an incoming plane.

"Mark! Mark!" She beamed at him, pointing to the stranger who look understandably startled by the woman's shrill shouts. "This man's looking for the brunette lady you were interviewing." She leaned toward him as he approached, adding in a decidedly unwhisperlike whisper, "He's an FBI Agent."

Realisation dawned, and Mark extended his hand to the new arrival, relieved that someone would be taking the awkward Little Miss Trenchcoat (or at the moment Little Miss No-Trenchcoat) off his all-too-tempted hands. "Special Agent Booth?"

The agent gripped his hand like a lifeline, which wasn't that surprising after a conversation with Harriet Griffin, and offered him a good-natured smile, "Yep, that's me. This seems kinda backward, but I'm here to pick up my partner?"

Mark smiled in return, grateful that at least one half of this partnership appeared relatively sane, and began to head toward the door. "Right this way, Sir. I'll have to ask you to take her straight out of Dulles International though as we've had problems with finalising her security access." He offered an apologetic shrug. "She, uh, wasn't the most co-operative, Sir."

Booth laughed, running a hand through his dark hair as he adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "That really doesn't surprise me."

The Customs agent was about to reach for the door when he was stopped by a hand on his arm and a smile that proved once again just who had the people skills in this relationship. "I'll take it from here, Mr..." Booth's eyes fell to his blue plastic nametag. "Mr Williams. Thank you for your help."

Receiving a friendly yet dismissive pat on the back, Mark nodded in acknowledgement, stepping aside to let him enter and inwardly ranking Agent Booth fairly low on the 'Jackass' rating scale he and several other guards had implemented for dealing with the seemingly ever-present FBI and CIA contingents at the airport. Smiling contentedly at a job well done (and at a troublesome yet attractive doctor being handily off-loaded to somebody else), he moved to rejoin his fellow Customs agents in the hunt for illegally smuggled plutonium and/or parakeets.

However, when he heard a throaty chuckle through the interview room door and an amused male voice instructing, "Put your hands on the wall and spread your legs", he started to wonder if his mother, his friends and his pet Labrador had the right idea after all; being an FBI Agent certainly seemed to have its perks.

* * *

_Reviews are, as always, the awesomest things that ever awesomed and would be gratefully received._

_Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading/reviewing/alerting/favoriting/etc-ing this fic - I'm so grateful for your comments and I really hope you'll come back to read the rest of these random little stories in September when I once again have internet access. Thanks again for reading and have a lovely summer._


	37. Ask Me to Turn

_A/N: I missed my computer a ridiculous amount this summer. It's pathetic really. Of course, I also missed you all as well, especially those of you who were oh-so-kind-enough to leave me feedback last chapter. I know I didn't reply to them, but hopefully you'll forgive me seeing as how I was living in the woods all summer and had no internet. (Or bathrooms. Yay.)_

_Okay, this one's a little different from usual. I've been wanting to write this for ages but it's kinda complicated and __**requires some concentration where the time stamps are concerned**__. To sound like the '24' narrator, all events in this story take place on the same day and it's __**rated a strong T for violence and unpleasantness**__. _

_To reiterate, this is a fairly experimental (and goddamn long) chapter but hopefully it'll work out okay. Either way, the dumb humor will be back next time..._

* * *

**You know that to ask me to turn from my task would be vain...**

**January 31st 2009, 7.38pm **

The metal rasp of the bag's zipper seemed achingly loud in the silent apartment.

Breathing steadily, Booth slipped his hand under the thick strap of his gym bag, the dark material feeling even coarser against the cornstarch which still clung to his fingers. With smooth, precise movements, he lifted it onto his shoulder and walked resolutely to the door, unconsciously completing the long-forgotten routine he'd begun earlier in the evening.

He let the cuff of his jacket cover his hand before turning the doorknob and stepping out into the corridor. Grim confidence seeped from every pore as the lock clicked into place behind him, the sound signalling that no last-minute checks were needed and that he was confident he wouldn't need to return.

His expression belying none of the amateurish fear or guilt that he knew would draw people's attention, Booth walked calmly down toward the stairs, his mind processing the information he'd received and exactly what he'd done to get it.

**January 31st 2009, 4.05pm**

Relaxing as much as the interrogation room chair would allow, Scott King fixed his cold blue gaze on the agent standing opposite him, smirking at the barely-contained rage that emanated from the other man.

"You want to tell me why I'm here, Agent Booth?" he asked, purposely keeping his voice at an infuriatingly casual level. "Or should I start preparing that harassment lawsuit already?"

A mirthless smile graced the agent's lips. "Not worked it out yet, Scotty?" He moved forward out of the shadows, sinking into the opposite chair. "A smart guy like you, top in his class at Yale, one of the most successful defence lawyers in the district... You telling me you don't know why you're here?"

King shrugged, the movement barely enough to ruffle his impeccably neat suit. "I'm afraid to say I don't, Agent Booth. The agents who came to my office told me that I was wanted for questioning in regard to the kidnapping of a Dr Temperance Brennan, but I don't see what that has to do with me."

The agent's brown eyes met his for a moment, and he returned the probing stare with an innocent yet icy gaze, faintly gratified when Booth looked away first.

Clearing his throat, Booth pulled out a file and King watched with disinterest as he laid out pictures of corpses, attaching a name to each. "Samantha Morgan." A brunette with a slashed throat. "Lacey Jones." Wounds decorating a dismembered arm. "Lindsay Walker." Dark hair matted with blood. "Caroline Evans." A pale body still covered with dirt from its burial.

Booth looked up at him. "Any of these women look familiar to you?"

Pasting a suitably horrified expression on his face, he managed to sound offended as he answered, "No."

"You sure?" The agent leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with faux-casualness. "You never saw them near your offices? Never came up against them in court? Ran into them at a coffee shop, maybe, or at your gym?" His voice suddenly hardened. "Or maybe you kidnapped them, chopped them into pieces, then buried them in the woods?"

Keeping a calm expression, he coolly informed Booth, "The only time I've ever seen these women is when your agents brought me in last time. I don't know if the FBI are behind on their paperwork, but those accusations were proven to be false." He smirked. "I had an alibi."

"You say alibi, I say bribed associates," Booth shot back harshly. "But that's not why we're here, Scotty." He leaned closer, tone deadly serious, "The bastard who did this has got my partner. If he follows his pattern, her body will be found mutilated and buried in the next two days, and I will do anything to make sure that doesn't happen. Anything."

King's smile faded to an expression of intrigue as the agent continued, "Now, for my part, I think you're the son of a bitch that's done this, but right now I care about her more than I care about you." His dark gaze locked with the other man's icy one. "Tell me where she is."

The blond's facade didn't falter. "How would I know where she is?" He leaned in, speaking clearly for the benefit of the tape, "I have nothing to do with any of these crimes, including the kidnapping of Dr Brennan."

Booth sat back quickly, his tone becoming more relaxed as he expertly changed tactics, "I'm not saying you did. I'm just asking for your professional opinion here."

"Professional opinion?" the lawyer asked with a chuckle. "You want legal advice on how to find your partner?"

Booth shrugged, tension still coiled beneath the surface as he continued, "If that's what you want to call it. From your perspective, if you kidnapped a woman, where would you take her?" He gave him a forced smile. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Hypothetically?" King repeated, amused. "Do you really think I'd tell you where your partner may hypothetically be held?"

"I'm just asking you to share your opinion," he reiterated, the severity of the situation now evident in his tone. "Would she be somewhere in the city? A warehouse? Across state borders?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked, "Would she even be alive still?"

King leaned back in his chair again with almost palpable confidence. "I don't think I'm qualified to say, Agent Booth." His smile grew. "Maybe you should just wait and see."

**January 31st 2009, 6.31pm**

His return to consciousness was heralded by a slick burn in his throat, the lingering scent of chloroform soon filling in the blanks of the evening.

Swallowing reflexively to ease the discomfort, he lifted his head from his chest as his memories swirled and settled into a recognisable pattern inside his throbbing head. Too dizzy and nauseous to brave any assault of light on his pupils, he let his eyes stay closed as he shook his head gingerly, slowly pulling together the last frayed threads of memory from earlier that day.

He saw himself leaving the Hoover Building late in the afternoon and walking quickly down to his car, the frustration from the interrogation room still seething inside him. He'd made it less than four blocks down the street, just passing a barber shop and briefly checking his appearance in the window, when a hand had closed round his upper arm and pulled him roughly into an alleyway. With a grimace, he remembered being held in place by a strong arm looped through his own and a pungent cloth being forced over his nose and mouth, choking him into darkness.

Shaking away the thoughts, he shifted again, only to find that he was sitting up rather than lying down as he expected. He tried to lift his hands to rub his eyes, but felt a jolt of panic shoot through him as plastic ties dug into his wrists, binding them tightly behind his back. With an almost masochistic sense of hopefulness, he tried to kick his legs out and was not surprised to find them tied to the legs of the chair with what felt like similar plastic ties. Tensing in fear, he opened his mouth and eyes experimentally, but his immediate relief that he was not gagged or blindfolded was replaced by confused panic when he took in his surroundings.

His gaze fell on his own couch. His own kitchen lay behind the familiar counter, lit by evening sunlight filtered through his cream blinds. His own burgundy carpet was soft under his sock-covered feet, and he recognised his current seat as the chair that he sat in each evening to complete, or rather attempt, the crossword.

Sighing heavily, he dropped his head down to his chest as his heart sank. The bastard had taken him back to his own apartment.

"Nice to see you're back with me."

His head jerked back up as the bastard in question spoke for the first time, and still dazed from the chloroform, he looked around to locate the source of the voice.

He didn't need to look far before catching sight of his captor leaning casually against his cabinet, arms folded across his chest and a dark glint in his eyes. He was clad in black from head to toe, blending easily into the shadows, but it was the latex gloves on his hands which sent a rare shiver of fear down Scott King's spine.

Trying to disguise his nerves, the lawyer met Booth's eyes with all the cockiness he could manage. "Is the FBI branching out to kidnapping now, Agent Booth?"

**January 31st 2009, 4.36pm**

"Tell me where the hell she is!"

King smiled, looking up at the angry agent as he replied, "Should I start preparing that harassment complaint now or wait till you've retreated back to your office?"

Booth leaned over the table, speaking through gritted teeth, "I don't give a damn about harassment. I want my partner back and I'll pull you in here every chance I get if it'll stop you from hurting her. Just tell me where you're keeping her, and I'll let you walk out of here to get your business in order before we push for the electric chair."

"You do record these interviews, yes?" he prompted, smugly. "Because that's evidence enough to file an official complaint against you for harassment. Good luck finding Dr Brennan when you've been suspended."

Anger flared in Booth's eyes and he moved closer, invading the lawyer's personal space as he promised, "I know you've got her, and you _will _tell me where she is."

"Where's your proof, Agent?" He raised his voice for the microphone, enunciating clearly, "I've never met Dr Brennan, I'm not responsible for whatever's happened to her, and I have no knowledge of these horrific crimes you've mentioned." Smirking at the agent's impotent rage, he pushed himself smoothly to his feet and commented, "If there's nothing else, I'll be on my way. After I've filled in that complaint form of course."

For a second, he expected the fury in the agent's eyes to sublimate into a punch and was mildly surprised when Booth took a step back, dark eyes turning cold and business-like as he spoke calmly, "Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, Mr King. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions, and if you'd like to make a complaint, you can find the forms at the front desk."

King raised his eyebrows, disappointed at the lack of reaction, but hid it quickly, returning the nod and saying curtly, "Hopefully this'll be the last we see of each other, Agent Booth."

Booth gave him a tight smile. "I hope so."

**January 31st 2009, 6.36pm**

"I was wondering why you were all sunshine and light at the end," King commented, a note of admiration in his voice as the agent moved about in his kitchen, ignoring him.

The radio played quietly in the background, the mindless blare of noise covering the lawyer's attempts to understand his situation. "So when did you plan all this out then? Did you always want to try abduction, or was it a spur of the moment type deal? Because I've got to say, first timers make a lot of mistakes. I see it in court all the time - people leaving fibres, fingerprints, witnesses, and plenty of other incriminating evidence. You may be an FBI agent, but do you really expect do get away with this?"

Booth paused in his task, a smile ghosting across his face before he turned fully to face the other man and answered confidently, "Yes, I do."

Apparently finished in the kitchen, he let the drawer fall closed behind him as he walked back into the lounge, and Scott King's eyes widened when he saw the light glint off the knives in his gloved hands. Feeling his heart beat harder in his chest, the captive tried again, his voice losing some of its cool as he insisted, "You'll slip up. They always do. You let me go now and we might be able to cut a deal, but otherwise, you're going to jail for this."

The agent continued to lay out the knives with meticulous care, examining the blades with a connoisseur's interest and answering without concern, "I have an alibi."

"Against a victim's statement?" The confident lawyer in King couldn't be held back and he gave a small snort of derision. "There's no way the word of one of your friends will hold up against forensic evidence and my statement. They'll lock you up for this; you'll lose your gun, your badge, your job... As for your lady scientist-"

He stopped abruptly as he heard the agent chuckle darkly under his breath, and sat up straighter in the chair, unsettled and insulted by the laughter. "What's so funny?"

Booth's back remained turned. "Your assumptions."

Unnerved, King pushed further, the confidence slipping out of his voice. "What assumptions?"

He saw his hand hover over the knives on the table, moving hypnotically back and forth in selection as he answered matter-of-factly, "That there's going to be any evidence I was here." His hand settled on a knife, lifting it and testing the weight as Booth glanced over his shoulder, the outline of his features just visible in the dim light. "And that you're going to live long enough to make a statement."

King's heart dropped a few inches in his chest.

Realising his breathing had quickened at the first verbalised threat from his kidnapper, he tried to bring it under control and forced himself to sound nonchalant as he asked, "So what is this? I tell you where she is or you kill me?"

Another low laugh, and Scott gritted his teeth in frustration at his failing attempts to gain any control of the situation. Anger mixing with fear, he asked again, louder, "What is it then? Tell me why the hell I'm here or let me go, but stop standing there laughing like Coco the goddamn clown!"

The silence seemed to engulf the room when he quieted and cold ice started to trickle down his veins, quenching the angry fire that filled them and sending nervous tremors through his body. Breathing heavily, King remained stoic as his captor turned to face him, face impassive but hand closed comfortably around a small silver knife. His eyes flickered down to the weapon as Booth walked toward him, but soon returned to the agent's face as he raised his chin and tightened his lips defiantly.

Booth halted inches in front of his chair and King finally remembered to breathe.

"You want to know what was funny?" The agent didn't wait for an answer but took another step forward, toying purposefully with the knife as he met the lawyer's gaze. "The fact that you still think you have a choice." He leaned in and King flinched. "This isn't a game of talk or die. I'm not playing anymore." Empty dark eyes met wide blue ones. "You will tell me where she is. There's no "or" involved."

**January 31st 2009, 7.31pm**

Standing over his gym bag, Booth let himself breathe deeply for the first time in what seemed like hours.

Willing his pounding heart to fall into line with the rest of his controlled body, he kept his eyes focused on the empty wall in front of him while he moved on an autopilot he thought he'd forgotten.

With blood-stained fingers, he gripped the bottom of his shirt, muscles tensing and relaxing under his skin as he pulled it swiftly over his head before depositing it in the waiting plastic bag. Following an old routine, his hands then tugged at the front of his loose black sweats, not wanting to spread the blood on his gloves to his skin or to his boxers beneath as he stripped quickly and efficiently. His socks stayed on for now, his feet resting on top of his empty shoes so as to leave as little trace as possible for the investigators he knew would come.

The cooler breeze from the air-conditioning unit raked over his now bare skin, making him notice the sweat on his face for the first time. Taking another deep breath, he tilted his head to the ceiling, letting the cold air slip across his exposed throat like the blade of a knife.

Sweat pooled on his palms, damp and constrictive against the material of the glove, and he dropped his gaze to his hands, staring momentarily at the bloody swirls that filled the creases of the latex, moulding to his skin like a guilty fingerprint.

He shook it away, focusing on the immediate future rather than the recent or not so recent past. Just as he saw her do everyday at the lab, and just as he used to do every time his work was over, he neatly pulled the gloves off, rolling them up together and keeping every drop of blood inside, pressed against the membrane like a macabre kaleidoscope.

He dropped them on the pile of clothes, feeling his hand tremble slightly as he did so.

**January 31st 2009, 6.59pm**

"Where is she, Scott?"

The patient tone of voice made him want to scream almost as much as the burning pain in his arm. Struggling for breath, Scott King tried to sit upright and glared up through damp hair at the malevolent shadow looming over him as it waited for an answer. Blinking away the sweat that trickled into his eyes, he spat defiantly at the floor, the bloody splatter his only remaining form of physical resistance.

"Screw you," he gasped out, feeling the hot blood course down his ribcage. "Asshole."

A deliberate pause and Scott clenched his fists in anger as the blade was dragged slowly and emotionlessly through his forearm, sending a fresh stream of blood down toward his bound wrists and causing him to hiss with pain as stinging sweat slipped into another new wound.

He heard the agent move behind him and dropped his head, pushed to the edge by his calm and controlled approach in the face of Scott's own pain.

"Where is she, Scott?"

He groaned aloud at the question, looking angrily up at his captor again. "I don't care how many times you ask me the same goddamn question; I'm not telling you where she is." All pretences of innocence abandoned, he growled bitterly, "The bitch can starve to death for all I care. She was close to it anyway; another night and there won't be anything worth finding."

"Where is she?"

A smile touched his lips at the edge of tension he heard in his captor's voice and he forced himself to widen it to a smirk. "Why do you care anyway? She was nothing special - too thin really - and she would never keep her mouth closed." He met Booth's eyes. "I had to smack her around just to get her to shut-"

Booth's fist collided with his face before he could finish the sentence.

Spitting out more blood, King grinned broadly, laughing almost manically as he continued, "Although I could think of better things to do with her mouth than gag it..."

This time he was backhanded hard across the other cheek, making him laugh harder. Seeing the agent's hand tightening around the knife, he pressed on, truth giving way to pure provocation as he sought the ending he wanted, "She was a good one though. Worth the effort of getting her." He looked up at his captor, slowly licking his lips at the feigned memory. "Those breasts... wow. And those smooth, grippable thighs, and tight, hot-"

The blade came down.

An elated rush of victory shot through him as he prepared for the final blow, tilting his head up and smiling widely at the thought of release.

Release never came.

Expecting a blinding white light at the end of the tunnel, he was faced only with the stomach-clenching darkness of the agent's angry but controlled gaze as he stared down at him, holding the sharp blade carefully under his jaw. Before King could even slit his own throat, he'd moved it away, holding back and letting him wallow in his own helplessness.

Impotent and denied, King stared up at him and made one last shot at motivation. "So the thought of me screwing your girl isn't even enough to make you lose your cool. And here was me thinking you cared what happened to her." He feigned a shrug, wincing inwardly as he did so. "Guess I'll have to be more experimental next time. You got any sisters I could try, or-"

Booth's cold voice cut through his pathetic spiel, asking in a careful neutral tone, "How many people have you killed, Scott?"

Surprised by the question, King blinked silently as the agent continued, pacing a little in front of him and pressing for an answer, "How many? Eight? Ten? Twelve?"

Deciding that no worse could come from confessing, the lawyer admitted proudly, "Fourteen."

Booth raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. "Fourteen. Fourteen young women all killed at your hands." He paused, asking almost conversationally, "They _were_ all women, right?"

Scott tilted his chin up, trying to rebuild his defiant stance as he answered briefly. "Yes."

The agent nodded. "And you what, killed them by cutting them into little pieces? Well, more medium-sized pieces really, but-"

"No," Scott interrupted with boldness that surprised even himself. "I killed them first - slit their throats - then cut them up."

Booth made a noise of comprehension. "Oh. You did the same thing for all of them?"

King nodded, confused where this was going, but felt his heart plummet once again when the agent stopped pacing and turned to him with a coldness in his eyes that made him swallow hard.

Voice low and intimidating, Booth continued, the questions becoming rhetorical and forceful, "So you made it quick? One clean slice, and you could step back like a farmer at the slaughterhouse? Never felt anyone's life slipping away beneath your fingers? Or heard that one sudden crack as your bare hands do the work of a noose?"

He moved closer, standing above him still but letting the blade rest against his cheek. King froze, eyes straight ahead and breaths shallow with fear as his words sank in. "Never taken a knife and made cut after cut, letting blood run until a final drop tips the scales and they're more dead than alive?"

His hand crept into King's hair, pulling his head back with mocking softness as he leaned in to murmur a final question in his ear, "How many people do you think I've killed, Scott?"

A shuddering, sobbing breath escaped from the lawyer's mouth and he closed his eyes as he felt the agent's warm breath brush his cheek, his words no longer a question but a command, "Tell me where she is."

**January 31st 2009, 8.03pm**

Siren blaring, he swung the SUV down onto a small dirt road, taking the potholes and road-bumps at a speed his suspension would later regret but which now seemed far too slow.

He heard the vests and equipment in the trunk bounce and rattle as the car shook roughly, and briefly thought about the inconspicuous black gym bag tucked under his gear. Part of his mind said he should've taken the time to dump it, but the other part, the part that had been screaming at him all evening that he was taking too long, overruled it, knowing that once he'd got the location, his own fate was always going to come second to that of his partner.

The abused car pulled up outside a large tin barn, the centerpiece to the abandoned farmyard that seemed bigger than it actually was in the cold winter darkness. Fitting the flashlight to his gun and pocketing a bottle of water, he set off into the barn, knowing that backup was somewhere on the road behind him and hoping neither they nor him would be too late.

The barn yielded no sign of life other than some mice cutting rustling paths through the remaining straw. Feeling overwhelmed by the task in hand, Booth tried to stop his heartbeat from blocking out any other sound and ignored the pessimistic whispers in his mind of what he would find behind each new door.

Guided by the flashlight beam, he shoved open the door at the far end of the barn and made his way slowly into the horses' stables. Hearing the doors rattle in the bitter wind, he shone his light round quickly, unsure whether he was trying to find friend or enemy in the darkness. Taking cover behind a pillar, he risked a shout into the darkness of the stalls, "Bones? Bones, you here? Bones?"

He received no shout or shots in return so edged out from his hiding spot and began his search, kicking open every rusty hinge and splintering door and having his hopes dashed anew every time his flashlight fell on empty straw. Reaching the second-to -ast stall in the stables, he kicked at it as he had the others, only to find it wouldn't budge.

A surge of desperate hope rose up in him and despite the odds against, he pounded on the door, calling loudly, "Bones! Bones, can you hear me?"

Undeterred by the lack of reply, he gripped his gun tightly and took a run at the heavy wooden door, almost shouting in relief when it caved and fell under the force of his shoulder, sending him stumbling into the straw.

It took him half a second to locate the curled, shivering body in the corner of the stall.

It felt like it took even less time than that for him to fall to his knees beside her, pulling off his jacket and lifting her and it into his arms in a fumbling attempt to keep her warm. Feeling her shiver still through the thickness of his clothes, he held her closer, his own arms still shaking with adrenaline as he rubbed soothing circles on her back and whispered comfortingly, "You're alright, Bones. It's over, it's alright, you're safe. It's all over."

The monologue was repeated again and again as he felt her burrow deeper and deeper into his arms for warmth. He made no mention of the bruises on her face, the dirt and cuts marring her pale arms, the severed rope still tied round her wrists, or the blood on her knuckles from an attempted escape, instead just repeating the same platitudes and rocking her until they both started to believe them.

He only dared to start believing everything was really okay when she looked up at him, blue eyes cloudy but focused as she murmured hoarsely, "Booth..."

He shushed her before she could get any further, pulling the water from his pocket and holding it up to her lips. "Shh, Bones, it's okay. The ambulance will be here soon but you need to drink this for me."

Her lack of argument was a testament to her condition, and he smiled tiredly as she sipped the water, coughing at the sensation at first but soon taking larger swallows and trying to speak again. Still curled in his jacket, she asked quietly, "How long have I been here?"

"Two and a half days," he answered quietly, brushing a stray hair out of her face as she took another drink.

Weak from lack of food, she raised her head to look at him, a small, grateful smile on her face, "How did you find me?"

Booth's face betrayed nothing, his usual comforting smile crossing his lips in reply to hers. "I got lucky."

Still smiling with relieved gratitude, she leaned against his chest, exhausted, and whispered honestly, "Thank you."

"Anytime, Bones," he murmured sincerely, resting his chin on the top of her head. "Anytime."

**January 31st 2009, 7.25pm**

The tangy taste of blood coated the back of Scott King's mouth but he could barely bring himself to move to spit it out.

Head lolling weakly to the side, he made an attempt, mostly just letting it drip pitifully from his lips to the burgundy carpet beneath his feet which was now stained a different shade of crimson. With effort, he wrenched himself back upright, screaming in protest as more blood slipped away.

Or rather, whimpering in protest. He'd given up on screaming a long time ago.

Head pounding and blackness dancing at the corner of his eyes, he let his head fall back and looked up at his seemingly inexhaustible tormentor. Choking on blood, he gasped out a last retort, "Shouldn't you be off-" He coughed weakly. "-rescuing her? I told you where she is."

Booth took a step closer, still holding the knife, and King flinched back, now afraid of the small weapon and what he knew the agent would do with it. Leaning in, he asked seriously, "Are you telling me the truth?"

Too weak to argue, King nodded, feeling the blade settle just above his adam's apple. "I'm telling the truth. She's there. I killed all of them there." A delirious laugh broke from his throat and his neck swayed dangerously close to the knife. "It was fun too." He grinned sadly. "While it lasted. All that blood..."

Booth paused, knife still at his throat and King smiled up at him, teeth and lips stained drunkenly with blood. "You want to kill me," he croaked painfully, blood trickling down his chin. "You want to take that knife and slit my throat for what I did to all those girls."

He coughed again, but then his voice became more like his own as it taunted, "Would've done it to your girl too. She would've been fun to kill; that long pale throat just begging to be cut." His smile faded as his eyes seemed to focus on Booth for a moment. "But then you came along..." The grin returned, just as mad and just as wild. "And I met someone who's even more screwed up than I am."

The defense left Booth's mouth before he could stop it. "I'm not-"

He cut himself off, but still couldn't resist the righteous explanation, "I was just doing what I had to."

King's laugh pierced the apartment, just as cocky as he had been in the interrogation room earlier that day. "Doing what you had to? You're justifying yourself to the man you've spent an hour cutting to pieces? You're a coward. Cloaking murder behind justice because you think it'll make you a bad person." He laughed again and Booth's jaw tightened at the sound. "News flash, Agent Booth: you already are a bad person."

Booth clenched his teeth, unconsciously digging the knife further into his exposed neck. King moved his head back, bloody smile widening as he egged him on, "One more won't make a difference, will it? Do it; make sure I'll never come after that pretty little scientist of yours again. Do it. Do it!"

Breathing heavily, the agent grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer and twisting the blade so one single slice would be enough. Staring at the jumping pulse in his throat, he hesitated, hand tight on the knife but mind swirling with emotions.

King leaned forward, trying desperately to press himself onto the weapon and giving last minute rationales as he did so, his voice cold and logical, "They're going to kill me anyway if they get me to court. Needle, electric chair, shank in the showerhouse - all you're doing is speeding up the process..."

Booth's hand wavered, and so did King's patience, causing him to snap with angry frustration. "Do it! We both want this! I'd have killed your girl without looking back if I had the chance!"

His voice became sincere, a mixture of bitter respect and raging anger, and his eyes locked with Booth's for the final time. "I don't want to die by lethal injection ten years from now. If I'm going to go, I want to go at the hands of a killer like you. Kill me," he spat, twisted smile in place, "you ruthless bastard-"

The apartment fell silent as the bloody knife dropped soundlessly to the floor.

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Thoughts and comments gratefully received.


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